


The Addict in Me

by JessicaDoom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe, Daddy Dean, Dean Has a Sexuality Crisis, Dean and Romantic/Sexual Orientation, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Past Drug Use, Sexual Content, Teacher Castiel, daddy!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3515291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaDoom/pseuds/JessicaDoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An addict will always crave something. Drugs, alcohol, affection. For eight years, Dean has been clean, focusing all of that wanting into raising his son in a way he'd always dreamed of. Ben is all he focuses on. Until, by chance, Castiel Novak comes wandering into his life. The addict in Dean finds a new craving - one he's hesitant to satisfy. One he's not sure he even wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've been tossing around for a couple months. And...I rewrote this chapter like three (actually more...) times. But I'm FINALLY satisfied enough with it to share it with the world! So here it is. I hope you enjoy it. This first chapter is just the tasting course. The real fun stuff comes in later chapters ;)  
> As always, please take the time to tell me what you think! Feedback makes a writer happy.
> 
> The banner was graciously made by [archofimagine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/archofimagine). She is amazing and deserves every single praise. (She's a big reason this even happened. She kept me going when I was ready to pull my hair out and give up.)

 

 

_I'm not gay._

_I'm not._

_I didn't grow up with a feminine side. Not one birthday or Christmas did I ask for Barbies over monster trucks. My hips never did sway 'unnaturally'. If you looked under my mattress when I was a teenager, you wouldn't have found magazines of sweaty men with naked bulging muscles._

_I have never once questioned my sexuality._

_No matter what my current situation and life choices may be…I am not and will never be…_

_Gay._

 

xXxXxXxXx

 

**May 2007**

The night before was a blur. The bar, the drinks he'd indulged in, the rugged first contact. And the second tender one.

It was a vivid blur. Every memory came back in a flash that steadily built up into a groan deep in Dean's throat.

As he turned over, Dean half expected to be met with a solid reminder of his mistakes. To his relief, however, he found the other side of the bed blissfully empty. For a second, he thought maybe it had all been a dream. That he had just imagined the mistakes he had made. But there was still that taste on his tongue. And there was still that scent in his nose.

With a deep sigh that ended on a broken note, he propelled himself out from under the covers. He made a vow to change the sheets before going to sleep that night as he stumbled away from the memories.

 

xXxXxXxXx

 

Two days later and even the fuzziest details were still coming back to Dean in rough waves. He had tried to go through his days as normal. He was so busy, that he had been sure that wouldn't be difficult. But little bits and pieces kept floating over his mind at the most inopportune moments. It distracted him – caused him to burn dinner, to forget to brush his teeth, to run into a customer at work with a shopping cart.

Right after the incident that ended in a cursing from the old woman, Dean realized just how badly he was hiding this. With a torn noise, he leaned up against the counter and avoided the leveled look from his boss. His best friend. The guy that knew him better than absolutely anyone else. The guy that was currently giving him the least impressed look he'd ever felt.

"Alright, brother. Obviously something's eating at you."

Shrugging, Dean ran his fingers through his hair. A nervous gesture followed by a quick need to fix it back to its original state. "I, uh…. Fuck, Benny, I don't even know how to begin."

Closing time at Lafitte's Hardware store was still a few hours off. Something in Dean's tone must have caused Benny to forget this fact, however, as he was moving to lock the front door and flip the  _Open_  sign over without a moment's hesitation. He nodded for the other to follow him to the backroom, settling into his respective lounge chair in their makeshift 'break room'. Benny pulled out the bottle of hidden whiskey and Dean took his seat opposite.

A moment later, the sickly sweet scent of the blunt between Dean's lips filled the little room. It did little to calm his nerves as he held the smoke in his lungs and passed it along. But it was a start.

"Come on, Dean. Spill," Benny grunted through his held breath, raising a knowing brow. They'd known one another for something like ten years. He could see the things bothering Dean eating at his stomach.

Dean made sure to take a deep drink from the bottle before beginning. He made sure he was starting to feel numb before letting loose those words. Before admitting what he had done. What he had never dreamed of doing even once in his lifetime.  _Never_.

"So…," he started, dragging his teeth painfully over his bottom lip. "So…sorta of spent the night with someone recently…."

That didn't sound bad. Dean wasn't telling the whole truth, though. That wasn't the bad part. Back in his day, he had spent many a night with a long string of different women. Those were different times, that was for sure. But spending the night intimately with someone shouldn't make Dean look this nervous. There was more to it. Benny waited in silence for the rest of the confession, stealing the whiskey back with a pointed look when it started to take too long.

"I can't stop thinking about him."

What followed the rest of Dean's declaration was more than silence somehow. It was the equivalent of a pitch black night devoid of stars or pinpricks of light. Benny was frozen, probably trying to make sure he had heard those words correctly. Trying to put all that he knew about Dean Winchester into a beaker and adding this drop in. Watching it erupt. Noting how it didn't seem to be a stable mixture.

Dean was the first to admit that it wasn't a stable mixture for his life. Hence why it had affected him so badly in the past two days.

"What the fuck, Dean? Honestly…what the fuck?"

 

xXxXxXxXx

 

 _Dean wouldn't have been in this bar tonight if life hadn't thrown him a curveball. It was Ben's birthday. His eighth birthday, to be exact. And since he was now eight, apparently, it meant he was now too cool to spend that night with his father. Too old to stick to their ritual of tacos and root beer and Hostess cupcakes in front of their little tube TV tuned into classic_ Star Trek _episodes. He was now old enough to spend the night at a friend's house. No doubt a friend who could actually spend the money of real gifts and real food._

_Dean Winchester had been ditched by a child._

_It had been so long since Dean had been to a bar and drank into unrecognition. Since that kid was born, really. But it was his first thought of where to go on his lonely night. He could use a drink. It probably wasn't healthy that this was his first thought – to find a vice to turn to. But it had been a long time since he wasn't 'healthy' and so…he figured it could be safe._

_Charlie Bradbury had been offering Dean a free drink since the first day they had become friends. It was only logical that he finally took her up on that offer when he desperately needed the company. She offered him more than just one drink that night, though. Taking pity on his struggling-for-rent budget and need for an escape, she just kept pouring._

_He really should have told her to stop. That he'd had enough. When his eyesight began to drunkenly swim around the room, he should have taken that as a cue to stop. Maybe then he would have had the capacity to understand his actions._

_Within moments of meeting this man, Dean was walking out with him. He had been offered a ride home. There was no way he would risk taking Baby home in his condition, so he accepted without hesitation._

_He didn't know this man. Something about his eyes, though, said he could be trusted. They were a cerulean blue that reminded Dean far too much of crystal clear waters. He could get lost in them. Without a single moment of questioning, he handed over the keys to the well-taken-care-of Impala sitting out back. His grin was dopey as he did so and for some reason he winked._

_As they drove, Dean caught bits and pieces of information. A name – Castiel – that sounded so unique and seemed to fit_ perfectly _. That the kind man worked as an elementary school teacher. That he thought Dean was a great father for longing for that ritual he had been denied._

_The Beatles were on the radio as they pulled up in front of Dean's house. It was small and looked like it could fall apart at any second and the lawn should have been mowed months ago. The Beatles reminded Dean of his mother because, oh, was she obsessed. Castiel sang along as he put the car in park in the driveway, not even grimacing at the neighborhood. His voice was beautiful, that much Dean knew he would remember. Even through the alcohol, he could catch that the words flowed perfectly past those chapped lips._

"' _And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do. The movement you need is-'"_

" _My mother used to sing me to sleep with that song," Dean mused, settling further back into the passenger seat and rubbing sleepily at his eyes. The memory made them heavy, instinctively, and it felt nice._

_Blushing, Castiel reached out to turn the song down. He looked over at Dean, his keen eyes taking in the full length of him with curiosity. "Should I come in and sing you a lullaby, Dean?" he whispered, so quiet and so hesitant. But hopeful._

_His mind addled with undeniable intoxication, Dean found himself nodding. He chuckled, taking the whole thing as a joke. He wasn't even thinking past the fact that this was a kind stranger making sure he arrived home safely. He wasn't thinking. Period._

" _Sure," he said with a shrug and opened the door. Getting out of the car proved difficult before he remembered to remove the seatbelt. He laughed it off, thanking the kind stranger for helping him unclasp it before stumbling up to his front door._

 _Castiel's presence was heavy behind him. He could feel it, even though when he looked over his shoulder, they were standing at least a foot from one another. With a shrug, he struggled through his key ring and_ somehow _(nearly a minute later) managed to unlock the door. "Sorry about the mess," he grunted as he stepped inside, nodding for Castiel to follow him. "We don't get visitors." He flashed a dopey smile, leaning against a wall just inside to steady his shaky vision._

_His eyes were closed, but Dean heard the front door shut a moment later. Heard the footsteps as they tentatively entered the house. Heard them stop right in front of him. Soft, cautious fingers slipped up over his jaw and he physically shivered. "Wha-?" was all he managed to get out before he was unable to speak any further._

_Castiel was kissing him._

_That much Dean could register. There were lips upon his own and they were hot, hungry. He froze, not sure what his next move would be. Running through his mind were a million thoughts. He was trying to figure out how it had come to this. Had he given those signals? Had he somehow hinted at wanting this? Did he give off some sort of gay vibe? Should he kiss back?_

_Did he want to kiss back?_

_His reverie softened a moment later when he felt the hesitancy in those fingers caressing his face. As if on instinct, he returned the pressure. Opened his mouth. Allowed this man to glide his tongue along his own as they gave a simultaneous gasp._

_Dean wanted to break it off right then. He knew this was wrong. He wasn't gay. This wasn't normal. His father's voice was screaming like an alarm inside his head and his skin crawled. He felt dirty just standing here,_ kissing _this man. It was innocent, and yet it felt like he could never recover from what he was currently doing._

 _And yet…something in him decided it wasn't right to stop_ _._

 

xXxXxXxXx

 

"I didn't sleep with the guy, Benny. I…." Dean lifted his arms and flopped them harshly down against his sides as he let out a puff of smoke. "I just, uh…. It was just a kiss. And then he offered to…suck me off…." The last part, the part the he was most ashamed of, was muttered down towards the concrete floor. He hoped it would be absorbed in the grey mass and that Benny wouldn't hear. That he wouldn't be given something to judge upon.

"Was it at least decent...?"

Before he could even realize it, a smile slipped over Dean's lips. He covered it quickly with a gruff hand dragged across his mouth, but he knew it wasn't fast enough. Benny's smirk said that rather clearly. Which left Dean with one choice to make - lie or elaborate.

The latter option won out; his need to brag was to strong. "Best I've ever received," he chuckled, passing the joint with a suggestively raised brow. "The guy... Fuck, you could tell he knew he was good at it, too. That he'd had practice..."

"Please stop talking."

Flushing a dark red, Dean settled back into his chair.

Benny stole back the whiskey, taking a good, long swig in order to clear the things he had just heard (and might have involuntarily imagined) from his mind. "You know...you said Lisa gave the best BJs after you two smoked together for the first time. Ranted and raved over it, actually." He threw a calculated look over to his friend. Someone he thought he knew so well. "You're still...clean, right?"

If the accusation didn't send such a harsh pang through his heart, Dean would have balked at the idea. Instead, he let out a long breath of air and let his head slam back against the wall behind him. "Nah, man, I'm clean. Honest to God or whatever…I'm clean. I'm not about to throw eight years of my life away for nothing."

After considering his words for a moment, Benny nodded. "Alright, brother. I believe you." He leaned forward, a devilish grin upon his lips. "Mostly because I know  _you_  know I'll take that kid from you if you ever touch that shit again."

"Thanks, Benny," Dean chuckled, closing his eyes and taking one last toke. "Speaking of…I should get going. Thanks, though, for listening. And laughing." He smiled. "But why don't you do me a favor and forget I said anything. Kay?"

 

xXxXxXxXx

 

 _Castiel wanted to stay. He wanted to stay_ so bad _. But he knew that if he did, the morning encounter might make it less than worth it._

_This guy, Dean, was nice. Real nice. But he was definitely only blindly interested in what they had done. Somewhere before he'd drifted off to sleep, he had whispered something about not being gay. Which…Castiel had already guessed from the moment he laid eyes on him._

_But then he took an interest in Cas' timid offer. He hadn't even meant to offer, really. It came out by accident, aided by the three cocktails he'd downed beforehand. He hadn't actually expected to get a positive response to it, either. After the words left his mouth, he'd turned bright red and looked away. Let out a pathetic giggle. It was a joke – at least that's what he told himself. This guy next to him on the stool had obviously been wasted and he was just…playing on that idea._

_Until the guy said 'yes' and slipped a set of keys into his front pocket._

_Sighing softly, Castiel's fingers slipped into the waxed up tips of Dean's hair. Savoring the last seconds he had._

_Pulling himself away a moment later, he took his time getting out of the bed. It wasn't soft and it wasn't clean, but there was an appeal to this room. It was small. Intimate. Cozy and smelling of something that was distinctly_ man _. Cas wasn't really sure why…but he liked it here._

_And he liked the way this man tasted._

_With that taste he would never have again still lingering on his tongue, Castiel walked swiftly out of the room. He stopped only momentarily, taking the time to jot a note before he left. Just in case Dean wanted to hear from him in the morning. In case he awoke and wondered where Cas had gone. In case he even wanted to remember this night._

_In case he would be lucky at least once in his life._

 

xXxXxXxXx

 

_Hello, Dean._

_I left. I'm sure you noticed and I'm sure you're relieved._

_I get it. You're not gay. I know that. I respect that._

_But if you decide that maybe you could be? Or that you want to try it? Call me._

_\--that guy whose name you_

_probably don't care to remember…_

The note was a bitter reminder. One that Dean didn't need. He sucked his teeth, staring at it again. For the millionth time, perhaps. He remembered the guy's name.

Castiel.

What kind of terrible parent names their kid  _Castiel_? It was pretentious. The guy probably came from more money than he knew what to do with.

"Goodbye, Mr. Homo Moneybags…." Without even looking, Dean tossed the note. On the back was the man's number. He'd looked at it so many times, he was sure he had memorized it. But if he tossed it away, it was almost like forgetting it even existed. He could cast it out of his mind.

Two days ago…. That  _thing_  he had gone along with was a mistake. It was a mistake he'd rather not have reoccur. His talk with Benny had sealed that for him. So he'd throw out the note and the phone number and forget it ever happened. It was just a thing he did when he was drunk. Half of his life was things he did while drunk that he conveniently 'forgot' about.

This could be just like any of those times.

With time….

He hoped.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cutesy Father/Son stuffs in this chapter. That is my only warning/note. Enjoy and please please please leave a thought about what you read. Love you all!

 

**October 2007**

School had only been back in session for two months and already Castiel was  _done_. D-O-N-E. Done.

There was a definite slump to his step as he walked through the halls of Hamilton Heights Elementary School. Every single step felt mechanical, like he'd taken them a thousand and one times before. The days were the same now – monotonous. He'd been teaching for ten years and it all just felt…the same now. All of the kids were the same. All of the lessons were the same. All of the frustrations and nightly loneliness were the same.

Castiel was bored. With life. With his job. With the nights he spent in front of the television, biding his time with crap reality shows.

But on top of all of that, Cas was tired. And it was the kind of tired that his ability to get nightly eight hours of sleep couldn't fix. It was the kind he wasn't even sure  _how_  to fix.

Per usual, he was one of the last to leave the school. He often stayed late just to avoid the emptiness of his own home. It was nearing on five o'clock when he waved to the janitor as he leaned back against the entrance door to open it.

Out in the parking lot sat a single car. His gold Lincoln Continental – always a shining beacon, no matter where he parked it – waited solidly for him. He smiled bitterly at the sad thought that ran through his mind as he heard the entrance door lock behind him.  _The only thing waiting to take you home is an old pimp car you're too stubborn to trade in._

"Bye, Mr. Novak."

Frowning, Castiel stopped in his descent down the front steps. He looked down to his left and raised his hand in a gentle wave. "Ben, hey…." He tilted his head, eyes squinting in confusion. "Uh, it's…pretty much five. Why are you still here?" He took a quick look around, seeing not a single other soul in sight.

For a fourth grader, Ben Winchester was surprisingly developed. He walked around like an adult in a child's body. When he shrugged, he didn't do it because he didn't know. He did it because he knew there wasn't much else to say. "Waiting for my dad," he said quietly, picking at the fraying laces of his shoes. He had nothing to occupy himself with. No book to read, no video game system to play with, no cell phone to lose his mind in. He was just…sitting there. Picking at a crumbling section of the steps and staring at the street.

Clearing his throat, Cas made his way over to the boy. He settled down beside him on the same step, setting his briefcase to the side. "Your dad? He's a little…late, isn't he?"

Again, Ben shrugged and flicked a small pebble. "No, he's not late. Dad doesn't get off until, like, now. He'll be here soon."

He was so confident about it. Like he had not a single doubt in the world that his father would show up soon. It was one of the few parents for his current class that he hadn't met. Most made a point of introducing themselves at the beginning of the year. But Ben had just shown up that first morning by himself, lacking every single supply on the list. Meekly saying that he couldn't afford to get them until the end of the week. That  _he_  couldn't afford it, not his parents.

Through the two months of schooling they'd had together, Cas had learned that the mother was no longer in the picture. He didn't know why and the kid didn't seem to care either way. He was happy to have his father. Never stopped talking about him. The way he talked about this man, it seemed like he was some sort of saint.

Well, a saint wouldn't leave their kid to sit in the front steps of school until near-dusk. "I see," Castiel said softly, not sure what to say. "Um…I'll wait with you. I could meet your dad. That'd be cool, right?"

"Sure," Ben whispered. "I guess."

The minutes passed slowly. Castiel wasn't sure how long they waited, but he knew that by the time he heard an engine roaring near them, it had already begun to grow dark. And he knew that when he did hear the engine, it sent him jolting to his feet.

He'd know that engine anywhere. Castiel knew nothing about cars. Nothing at all. But the purring sound of that engine was permanently ingrained in his mind.

"Hi, Dad!" Ben called, launching off the steps and running towards the car waiting at the curb.

Slowly, praying that his suspicions were wrong, Castiel turned and took the steps down as well. He stepped up to the car. Peered inside the window. And completely forgot how to breathe.

He waved, a shaky smile on his lips. Memories playing through his head. Curses only barely held behind his teeth. A moment later, the driver's side door was creaking open and he was being pushed back towards the steps. Guided away from car and the kid and the comfort of anonymity.

"What the  _fuck_?" the man whisper-shouted into his face. "What the actual  _fuck_  are you doing here, man? With  _my_  kid? Waiting here for  _me_? Are you _kidding me_?" His voice was so inflected, Castiel was actually rather worried his vocal chords may break.

In that moment, Castiel cursed never learning this man's last name. Or where exactly his kid went to school. Or who his kid  _was_. It could have saved him from what inevitably would end as a beating.

Taking in a deep breath, Cas pressed a hand to Dean's chest. He pushed him back gently, giving a shaky smile. His nerves were on fire, but he was eager not to show it. They'd had a pseudo-one-night-stand a few months ago. It was nothing to be scared of. "Um, Mr. Winchester…I work here…."

Those words were enough to calm the fire breathing from between the other's lips. He took a step back. Looked Castiel up and down, taking in his casual suit and the briefcase in his fist.

"How'd you know my last name?" Dean muttered, sighing and scrubbing a hand roughly over his face.

Castiel shook his head slowly back and forth. "I didn't. I mean…not before now…." He sighed heavily and gestured over to Ben sitting in the car. "Ben's in my class. I just saw him waiting for his dad to pick him up and figured…." He shrugged haplessly. "I figured it would be a good time to meet the guy and ask why the hell the kid is sitting on the steps still."

Laughing heartily, Dean stepped closer to the Impala. "Hey, Ben!" The kid perked up, lowering the window with a questioning look. "Tell your  _teacher_  – Mister..."

"Novak," Castiel grunted.

"-Mr.  _Novak_  why the hell you're waiting on these steps today and not taking the bus home like you used to."

Ben flushed red and slowly rolled the window back up. He thunked his head against the glass and crossed his arms in a show of petulance.

"The kid beat up some other kid on the bus," Dean growled, throwing his hands up in the air. "They kicked him off. I don't get off work until five. So Ben has to sit here until I get off to come get him. I'd make him walk, but we live in Cicero and that's over two miles. It's even further to my work. So I told him to wait here. At least here…there's teachers around who can watch him. There's a playground he can play on. There's a library inside where he can do his homework. It's safe for him here and…that's the best I can do."

That night they had spent together, Castiel had told Dean he sounded like a good dad. A responsible dad. He had been so broken up over not spending that birthday with his son. Truly broken up. It was honest, his sadness, and Cas had seen that as something to admire. Hearing him talk now about the small sacrifices he'd had to make only sealed that admiration. He smiled softly and nodded. "He still shouldn't be sitting here. Maybe…. Maybe I could take him home after school instead…."

"Ha!" Dean gave a sharp noise of laughter and pointed roughly in Castiel's face. "No. Not happening. Thanks for offering, though." He nodded shortly, then headed back towards the car. "But, I'd appreciate it if you fuck off! Okay? Thanks."

Castiel wasn't sure why, but he felt the need to follow after Dean. To clear up the misunderstanding. To let him know that he hadn't meant anything but innocence by it. "I wasn't even…." He sighed and stepped in front of the door as Dean reached for the handle. "Look, I wasn't even talking like  _that_." The other man stepped back, putting distance between them like he was worried for an accidental repeat of their actions. "I'm his teacher. I was only offering…."

"I've seen what happens when you offer rides home. And that's not happening again so I'd appreciate it if you would…back off."

That one stung a little. Cas winced and stepped out of the way as Dean made for the door again. "Okay. Fine. I get your point…." With an exasperated sigh, he watched the man climb back into the driver's seat. A moment later, the engine rumbled back to life and AC/DC wailed out of the speakers.

In a last ditch effort, Castiel quickly rapped upon the glass of the window. He could feel Dean's eye roll as he rolled it down and gave a questioning look. "Um…tomorrow is parents' night," he tried quietly. "You should come. It's good for parents to see how their kids are doing in school."

Dean hesitated. He looked over at Ben, asking for input. Ben shrugged and nodded, as if giving consent. When Dean looked back at Castiel, he gave a forced smile and mimicked the assentation. "I'll be there. Now back off, Mr.  _Novak_  before your toes get run over."

 

xXxXxXxXx

 

These parents' nights weren't Dean's thing. He couldn't actually remember ever going to one…but he knew they weren't his thing. They were nothing but brownnosed moms running their mouths about how their kid was the best in the class. Bragging about the good grades and the science fair projects.

Dean wouldn't even be able to tell those bitches what Ben was currently studying in school.

He cared. Fuck, Dean cared a lot. He knew that the kid was going to school and was taking money for lunches daily. And that mattered to him more than he could say. He'd never had that as a kid. He was lucky if he made it to school at this age. When he was eight, John was on a travelling kick. They were everywhere and never in one place long enough to enroll in a school for more than a couple weeks.

It was for that reason that Dean was even considering going to the school that night.

"Dad, you hafta change."

Frowning, Dean turned around in the bathroom to look at Ben. The kid was sitting on his father's bed, giving that judgey look that his mother was so good at. Dean looked down at his clothes, then gave a ' _what?!_ ' gesture before grabbing back onto his toothbrush.

Ben scrambled off the bed and went to open the closet door. "They're all gonna judge you if you wear the same old ripped jeans and black t-shirt crap. You should wear…this." He shuffled over to the bathroom, holding up the only dress shirt Dean owned. It was white and a red striped tie hung around the collar.

With a snort, Dean spat in the sink and rinsed off his toothbrush. "I don't want to give any of those ladies false hope."

"Why?"

"They see me in that, kiddo, and they'll start to think I'm a good catch." Dean winked and ruffled Ben's hair as he passed. "And, you know, I might be. But I don't want some snot-nosed rich kid's mother to pursue me."

Laughing softly, Ben tossed the shirt on the bed and climbed back up beside it. "That might not be so bad. We could get name brand cereals if we were rich. That'd be cool. Oh! And a CD player in Baby!"

Dean smiled. He shrugged because he didn't know what to say in return. His son was a dreamer and he didn't want to discourage that. So, in answer, he pulled off the shirt he was currently wearing and reached for the nicer one. Ben grinned up at him like he'd won. And he had. And he would every single time because Dean would do anything for this little man.

In the end, he kept the ripped blue jeans and the work boots, but he was wearing the button-down and even the tie. He wore his old leather jacket over it, for comfort, but it was still a step Ben applauded. Literally. He clapped like there was no tomorrow as Dean drove away and yelled at him to get back in the house.

He arrived at the school just as the clock on the dash turned over to six. He looked up at the front doors. At all the people filing inside like drones of obedient bees. Where he expected the attendees to be mostly mothers, it seemed there were equal parts men and women. In groups. Together. Which only made him feel foolish in a different way. He slapped his palm against the steering wheel, cursing Lisa Braedon as he stepped out of the car.

He walked into the school feeling less than confident. What was worse - he  _looked_  it. His boots shuffled along the hallway, unsure of where he was supposed to be going. What he was supposed to be doing.

"Mr. Winchester!"

And worried that he would run into  _this guy_.

Dean would be lying to himself if he were to say he wasn't hoping he would…. That the other reason he came to this thing  _wasn't_  because of this guy.

He'd thought he'd seen a ghost the night before. When he saw Castiel outside of his car window, his first thought was that he was dreaming. Or something of the equivalent. It was unreal. Irrational. This was not someone he should have ever had to worry about seeing again. Or, at least, that was his naïve thinking.

His second thought was to get angry and act like a defensive jerk. Of course.

Biting his lip, Dean turned around and nodded in greeting. "Hey…," he said quietly. "Uh…I made it."  _Obviously. He sees that. He's not an idiot. Not like you…._

"Great. I'm glad."

Three simple words sent butterflies rampaging through Dean's stomach without warning. He swore internally and took a cautious step back. This wasn't normal. It wasn't him. It was a fluke of a stupid thing he'd done one night a few months ago. His reactions were only the cause of sensory instinct. Something he needed to forget existed...

"Did you have a chance to look at Ben's work yet?" Castiel asked, his voice meeker and more subdued than Dean remembered from that night.

Shrugging, Dean looked around. Artwork lined the walls of the hallways and little booths were set up with alphabetized schoolwork examples. Different teachers had different things to show off and every single parent looked proud of what they saw.

He truly had no idea where to begin.

Castiel must have seen right through the silence and uncertain glancing. "Actually," he said gently, his smile genuine. Platonic. Supportive. "Come with me. I have something to show you."

They walked silently through the packed hallways, sticking close to one another out of necessity. Every few steps, their shoulders would bump. Neither acknowledged it, but neither corrected the actions, either. They just kept walking until Castiel stopped them at a closed door. With a careful upturn of his lips, he unlocked it with a key attached to a cord on his belt. "Come on in."

"What do you have to show me?" Dean asked rather loudly. He figured if he filled the room with his voice, he would be able to ignore the way the door locked behind them. There was some sort of heavy weight that closed over them with just that sound. It turned his stomach and caused a dangerous anticipation.

Smiling in that dazed way he seemed to have, Castiel sat down behind his desk. He jiggled the mouse of a desktop computer and clicked away at the mouse a few times. "Come here."

Following the beckoning nod, Dean cautiously made his way over to the desk. He settled behind the chair, arms crossed firmly across his chest. The refusal to relax was etched into the lines of his taut muscles. "

"Okay, so…." Narrowing his eyes at the screen, the teacher pointed towards the bottom. "There's Ben." He clicked on  _Winchester, Benjamin I._  A page with listings of what Dean assumed were assignments appeared after a few seconds of loading. "And this…is his grade." He tapped at the display, calling attention to a bright red 'F'.

"Whoa, wait… _what_?" Shock settled the stiffness of Dean's posture. He leaned in closer, hand on the back of the office chair. "Why the hell does he have an ' _F_ '?" he nearly shouted, skimming the list. There were several assignments that were also highlighted red, missing a grade at the end. The ones that didn't shine like any beacons all had decent letter grades given to them. And none of that seemed to make sense altogether.

Sighing and leaning back in his chair, Castiel threw his hands up in the air. They thunked heavily down against the arm rests as he tilted his head back to look up at the other. "Ben hasn't turned in a single homework assignment I have given this year, D-" He cleared his throat and quickly corrected himself. "Mr. Winchester…." Averting his eyes, he reached down to shuffle in a drawer. He pulled out a fat manila envelope. His fingers ran over the cover hesitantly, like he was unsure of what to do with its contents.

"That's not possible," Dean seethed. He shifted closer as Cas sighed and flipped open the folder. Inside were pages upon pages of work with his son's name at the top. "See? Not fucking possible, the assignments are right here. I  _watch him_  do the homework. I make sure it gets done. Don't tell me my son is failing the goddamn fourth grade."

For a moment, all Castiel could do was stare down at the pages. He flipped through a few of them, thinking of how to approach the subject. How to accuse the child of what he was doing. How to come off as caring and soft when the words were so harsh. "Um...I found these in his desk..."

"All of these?"

"Every single one."

"Son of a bitch…."

Cautious, afraid he may startle Dean, Castiel stood up from his seat. He set a hand upon the man's shoulder and took in a deep, steadying breath before trying to rationalize with him. "Every day…. Every day I'll ask for the homework. He won't pass his forward. But, when I looked in his desk this afternoon, there they all were. All fully completed. All near-perfect."

Something was breaking inside the vivid green of those eyes. Dean was rationalizing everything he knew about parenting in that moment. Castiel could see the gears working and wanted to reach out to calm the angry furrow of his brow. His fingers shook at his side and he had to avert his eyes in order to remain controlled. "I just don't understand why he would do this…," Dean whispered, gaze flicking back to the angry letter grade upon the screen.

"It seems as if…Ben doesn't get along well with kids his age," Cas said gingerly. "And children can get upset over the silliest of things. Perhaps he is being bullied for being smart? And perhaps he has decided to give off the appearance that he's better at blending in."

A tangible swell of something like uncontainable pride filled the space between them. Dean was instantly grinning again, unable to control himself. "What did you just say he was?" he chuckled, head tilting to the side.

"…Smart?"

Something broke. Some sort of cautious barrier that had been between them shattered. It blasted apart like it was packed with explosives. In a rush of abandon, Dean closed the foot of uncertain space between them and pushed his fingers into Castiel's hairline. Mussing it up even further as he closed his eyes and took the plunge.

Cas was just barely able to get out a uttering of hesitance before the lips closed over his. And after that, he was hopeless to protest. His hand settled upon the other's hips, taking in the comforting heat he naturally gave off. That was no tongue or teeth used in this kiss; just careful testing of the waters. Uncertain lipping and ragged breathing.

" _Fuck_." Lingering like he didn't want to let go, Dean just barely pulled his head back. His fingers stayed where they were, tightening just slightly over the brown locks. "I can't…. I mean, uh…I'm not…."

"You're not gay," Castiel finished for him, licking his lips in order to savor the remaining taste. "You've told me." He laughed uncertainly. "But, uh…well, that kiss…. That was all you, Dean."

Dean knew that. He knew it and…he had no idea how to handle it. His head was telling him one thing – something that he'd had pounded into his skull since he was old enough to display interest. But his heart…. Well, it was certainly saying another thing. And so was the rest of his body, keening towards this man for reasons unknown.

"You know…it doesn't have to be black and white. You could just…keep kissing me and worry about your sexuality crisis later." Feeling brave, Castiel stepped closer so that his left foot sidled up in between Dean's. The other looked down a moment, assessing the situation. Cas took this opportunity to move further with his nerve. He hooked a finger in the Dean's belt loop, yanking him back in.

Heat flooded into them like they were starving for it. Forgetting his worries as suggested, Dean pressed Castiel back against his desk. A few 'naughty teacher' fantasies ran through his head but he quickly pushed them aside with a shiver. He wasn't quite ready for that yet, as much as his body protested that thought. With a soft noise, Cas complied with the action and shimmied his way up onto the edge.

It didn't take long before roaming hands found themselves in inappropriate places. It started with Castiel savoring the feeling of the too-big leather jacket the other wore. This progressed to him pushing it off the man's shoulders, smiling in satisfaction at the dull  _flop_  it made as it hit the floor. After this, he wasted no time in mapping out every single inch of Dean's ass. The way it curved and how much it gave under his fingers. It was a quick step from there for him to reach for the zipper right in his reach.

And that was when Dean suddenly remembered himself again. He backed up like Castiel was trying to set him on fire. "I-I…. I gotta get home," he said under his breath, pressing a single pointer finger up against his lips. Cas wasn't entirely sure, but it almost seemed like he was holding back vomit. "Um…could you…. Could you please give Ben grades for those assignments? I'll talk to him." He nodded, coming to some sort of understanding with himself, and snatched up his jacket. "Thanks. And, uh…."

"And you would prefer to pretend this didn't happen. Got it."

Maybe Castiel came off looking wounded. Maybe he plainly showed the hurt and feeling of abandonment he was trying desperately to hide in that moment. He didn't know for sure, but he did know that the man sauntered back towards him. That he leaned down to press his lips to the teacher's forehead. "I have your phone number memorized," he whispered, touch lingering a little longer than casually appropriate.

No other words were spoken as Dean walked away. He walked out the door, slipping his arms through his jacket. Castiel watched him go with a faint smile.

There were promises left in his wake. Promises to call. To text. To let him know when he needed him.  _If_  he needed him…. The promises were indeterminate. They could be literally anything. Or nothing.

But that ambiguity didn't scare Cas in the way it should have. It didn't wipe the grin from his lips or the butterflies in his stomach. It didn't stop him from going the rest of the night in a giddy daze. And it most certainly wouldn't keep him from dreaming of Dean that night.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been going through...personal stuff as well as doing driver's ed and have had ZERO time to do any writing. BUT I FINISHED THIS CHAPTER TODAY!! Yay, be proud of me! Anyway, here's this and the feels and the fluffies and yes. Let me know what you think, as always!

**October 2007**

"I haven't been to a meeting in…years."

Everyone nodded appropriately. They only did it because they were supposed to. It was the way these meetings went. People pretended to care while they dragged on through the two hours. They listened to the stories. They listened to the woes. They chimed in where it was appropriate.

Not a single person looked like they wanted to be there. It was where they went as a desperate attempt at remaining put-together. And, of course, Dean was one of those people. Or was…reverting back to being one of them.

After  _so_  long away…he'd crawled back.

"I, uh…. I don't even know why I came back, really." He chuckled to himself, an obvious attempt at swallowing the lump growing in his throat. It was such a last minute decision. He hadn't quite thought it through. The moment he remembered what night it was, he booked it. He ran out like his life depended on it because he could just  _feel_  that familiar ache in his bones. And it terrified him.

With a clear of his throat, Dean forced himself back onto the correct mental path. Spilling his guts. Getting it all out in the only place he knew how to anymore. "Um…I mean, that's kind of a lie. I do know why I came back. I've got the itch again. After so long feeling secure without it, it just…came back. And, man, it came back twisted. I mean, I still feel like I need to go get high. I need to lose myself in something that takes me  _away_." He let a rough breath out between his pursed lips before gritting his teeth together. Physical tics to momentarily distract himself.

"The last time I felt like this about a  _person_  instead of a, uh…substance…. The last time left me where I am now. The last time left me at rock bottom. And…that's where that pull came from this time around. A  _person_. And, dammit, I don't even understand why." He drug a hand across his mouth. The words weren't coming out the way he had hoped. They weren't conveying what he meant in the right way. But he didn't know how to come right out and just  _say_  it. That would mean…admitting something.

Even if these people were strangers, he wasn't comfortable with that. "So…I'm here. I don't know where else to go. So I'm here. And I'm…unsure. And, uh, I feel like a goddamn idiot because I'm not even sure what I'm really scared of.

"I guess I'm just…. I just feel like there's an ache in there to go back. To make those mistakes again. To chase the rush and absolutely fuck things up for myself again. To…go down the path that led to all that shit I swore off all those years ago. I'm just…fucking terrified."

xXxXxXxXx

Dean walked out of the Narconon meeting feeling worse than how he'd entered. The counselor, the same one who had been there back when he went daily and then weekly and then once a month here and there, wasn't the type of help he had been seeking. Ellen was so positive all of the fucking  _time_. She tried to put a positive spin on this… _thing_  he was going through. Tried to tell him that running from this longing might not be the right reaction. Yearning for a person was healthy when it kept one away from substances. It was something to celebrate. Something to long for. Something to pursue.

But all Dean wanted to do…was run.

That feeling wasn't likely to go away any time soon. It was actually a pretty constant feeling in most of his life. Run from potential threats. Stay back and don't interact. Work and home and Ben and living but only in the sense of existing. Day in, day out.

" _Give this person a chance." Dean had just stood, getting ready to bolt from the community center. After hearing all of the real problems going on with these other people, he felt like he'd intruded upon real recovery. This problem didn't belong here. And still,_ _Ellen_ _made an effort to coach him. To give him a little advice. He was sure it had something to do with how much she knew about his past struggles._

Those words ran through his head the entire way home. It almost becomes a constant loop. A mantra. Those hidden desires he was so unsure of festered within them. Whispered tempting 'what if's and 'maybe's in his head. By the time he pulled up to the house, his fingers were white upon the steering wheel. His breath was erratic. His heart was beating furiously like he'd just finished a marathon.

xXxXxXxXx

Ben was gone. He'd walked out of the house with his overnight bag and his bright smile nearly ten minutes ago. With him went Dean's security blanket. With him went the only reason for Dean to pretend things weren't as they were.

He paced back and forth in the living room for a full thirty minutes. He was actually mildly surprised that his manic steps hadn't kicked a fire into sparking up beneath him.

He held his cell phone in a vice-grip fist. On it was a message fully composed and ready to go. Well, almost ready. All that was left was to work up the nerve. He just had to push the send button. It was such a simple task. Just a slight push from the thumb. A baby could do it. A monkey could do it. It wasn't that complicated.

But, still, Dean couldn't make himself push that damn button.

"Man up, Winchester," he hissed to himself, quickly hitting send and tossing the phone on the counter. This was the decision he had settled on. He was going to do it. And he was going to do it to the fullest.

After that…all he could do was wait. And wait. He hadn't expected a message back and he certainly didn't get one. So he preoccupied himself with tidying up. His home wasn't altogether unkempt, but it wasn't spotless, either. The kitchen floor was sticky with spilt juice spots and there were a few dishes in the sink starting to smell. He kicked a few of Ben's things into his room, then shut the door resolutely behind the mess inside. After that, he did his best to at least halfway tidy the rest of the house up. And then…all he could do was pray that the layers of dust and stained patches on the carpets weren't as noticeable as he felt they were.

Just as a knock came from the front door, Dean had the bright idea to turn off a few lights. He turned on a lamp next to the single couch they had, took one last look around, then stepped towards the door with jerky motions. Unsure motions. The weight of the situation caught up with him in a way he had been trying to avoid. The confidence had left him and his hand shook when he grabbed the door handle.

"Hey." Castiel stepped inside without needing to be told. He pushed a brown paper bag into Dean's arms before stepping forward with a smile. Before he could anticipate it, Dean was pulled down into a soft kiss. The type of kiss that was just  _there_  and totally expected. The type that was caring and gentle and almost seemed like love. The type that one would have expected to receive after years of time and commitment. Not the type that should be shared between two men who had engaged in a small amount of kissing and a single one-sided blowjob. "I brought dinner."

That was that. Castiel walked towards the kitchen, shedding this ugly ass trench coat, not saying another single word. With a frown, Dean shut the door and followed him. He pulled the bag open for a distraction and smiled at the scent that hit him. Red meat and pure grease. "Thanks," he said quietly and set the bag down on the dining table. A quick swipe of his hand had the mess littering the surface pushed off to the side just enough for maneuverability.

"I was surprised to get your text," Castiel started, settling into a chair as Dean shelled out the food. "Pleased, but surprised…. You know, after you ran out last night."

Looking up, Dean caught the tail-end of the other's smile. His humor was dry, but infectious. Shrugging with a twitch of his lips, he sat down in the other chair. "Needed some company."

The silence was heavy, yet tolerable, as they unwrapped their food. The smell of loaded-up cheeseburgers and thick, crispy onion rings wrung the stale scent from the house. They shared a tentative smile as they both looked up with a mouthful at the same time. And then the men diverted their eyes with soft blushes, wracking their minds for something to say to break the tension.

"So…Mr. Winchester…," Castiel started after much too long of a pause. He carefully set his burger down and leaned across the table to (rather unnecessarily, since he had his own) steal one of Dean's onion rings.

"Yeah, Cas…?" Breathing and thinking were two things that were not currently Dean's strong suit. For some reason, the man across from him was making both rather difficult. It was the small things he did, really, that were distracting. The way his tongue darted out to lick ketchup from the corner of his mouth, the deep blue of his eyes trained solely upon his, the unspoken elephant of sexual longing between them….

With a chortle, Castiel nodded in seeming approval. "Cas? Huh...I wasn't aware we were already at the nickname stage."

"We're not," Dean was quick to voice, pushing away from the table too quickly. The chair made an unsettling screech upon the tile, bringing them to wince in union. "It, uh…. It was unintentional. Sorry." He crossed quickly to the fridge and wasted no time in popping open a beer, taking a numbing gulp.

Castiel's fingers slipped around the neck of the bottle, loosening Dean's grasp with just a soft brush of their skin. "Relax, Dean. I like it."

It took opening another bottle and downing three-fourths of in one long pull for Dean to feel calm. His skin felt prickly. He was nervous. He was uncomfortable. He was starting to regret this, even though every other fiber of his being just wanted to sit like this in front of this strange man for the rest of his life.

It was all so fast and  _real_  and secure.

"How long have you lived in Cicero?"

Castiel's question was easy, like this was any other conversation between two regular guys on the street. "I dunno," Dean answered, finishing off the beer, glad he'd had the sense of mind to grab an extra one before sitting back down. It was weak alcohol that he had an easy tolerance for, but the taste and warmness in his cheeks were still comforting. "Ten years, maybe? Since before Ben was born, but only…only just…." He faded out as soon as he realized the path of his words, hesitant to say more about that particular situation.

Thankfully, the other either sensed the hesitation or had enough decency to steer clear of the topic. "And before that? Where did you live before that?"

Dean couldn't hold back his burst of laughter at the question. It felt to him like he'd been handed loaded dice. Castiel wanted to know about Dean's past and Dean's past was almost a literal can of worms. "Uh…," he pondered, picking sesame seeds from his bun as a form of distraction. "Pretty much…everywhere, I guess. My dad was fond of travelling. He liked to chase the hunt. Liked to go where the game was big and good." As if the matter were trivial to him, he waved his hand before elaborating. "Dad was a hunter. He liked the thrill of popping a shot off into something dangerous. So that kind of ruled my childhood." He downed a swig of beer to cover the coppery taste filling his mouth, the alcohol putting him at great ease by this point. "We travelled a lot. Didn't get to stay in one place for too long….

"If we spent a lot of time anywhere…I'd say that would have to be backwoods South Dakota. Dad won a cabin off a family friend, way back, in a game of poker. And out of any place we ever stayed…it felt the most like home."

That cabin was the closest thing to home Dean was ever allowed in his youth. He hadn't counted Lawrence for quite some time now. That had been ripped from him so violently when he was  _so young_  – before he was able to fully grow into the idea of it. But that cabin? That cabin was special. It was where they kept the important things. His mom's records, his kid brother Sam's report cards, the stupid stuffed zebra Dean had stolen off some kid lucky enough to have had a trip to a zoo and slept with until he was well into his teens. When they were there, they were allowed to pretend they were normal. They went to school and made homemade (from a box) meals.

He'd never admitted it to anyone – not even Sam – but those times at that cabin in the middle of backwoods nowhere were the best days he'd had as a boy.

"Sounds wild," Castiel said on a breathy laugh. He was watching Dean's tear-glazed eyes very carefully.

Quickly, Dean shook his head, cleared his throat, and put on an 'I don't even care' smile. "Yeah, sure." He rolled his shoulders, allowing everything to just fall away. The hurt, the stress, the anxiety such memories buried within his chest. Brushing it off and pretending that nothing fazed him was all part of the routine of everyday life. "I'm guessing you grew up around here."

Castiel huffed a noise that we between hilarity and exhaustion. "Yeah…yeah, I did. In the same house I live in now, actually." He quelled Dean's questioning look by adding, "No, I don't still live with my parents. I have much more ambition than that. I just happened to acquire the house when they retired and moved to Florida. The  _day_ after I graduated college. What a wild coincidence, huh?"

Dean was almost entirely unsure what this was. What they were doing. He wouldn't call it a date, but he wouldn't quite call it friendly, either. They weren't friends. They hadn't known one another long enough to be friends. But he was incredibly hesitant to label this as anything close to being romantic. They were…just two men discussing their lives over good takeout – bonding in the afterglow of parental misfortunes.

This was not a booty call.

His text might have oozed begging and might have been phrased needy. He might have told Castiel to get there when he was next available. He might have even tossed in an apology for his reaction the night previous. None of this meant anything, however, in the way of him changing his mind. Because he hadn't.

Dean Winchester was straight as a…. Well, straight. Just straight. Did he really need to compare his sexuality to something unwavering and resolute to get that point across to himself? Hell, no! He liked women and he was extremely adamant on that fact. There wasn't an ounce of gay in him.

Having kissed Castiel…. Having allowed him to suck his cock when in a drunken stupor…. None of that changed that fact. Neither did the dreams where he longed for  _more_. Nor the incredible need nagging at the back of his mind to lean across the table and help the man clean the ketchup smudge from the corner of his mouth.

It might not have changed anything…but it sure as hell was making Dean uncomfortable.

"-never gave a house to my brother, Michael. I guess that's something to feel proud of, huh? Not that he'd have taken it. The golden boy gives charity; he doesn't t-"

"What?" Dean wasn't even half-listening. He raised his cloudy eyes to Castiel like he was coming out of a deep daze. His face flushed red as he caught the disappointed look the other took on at that.

With a small nod, Castiel pushed his food away. "Right. Right…. That's not interesting. You don't care about that. I get it." He held his hands up in a sign of surrender, sinking Dean's heart with the way he seemed to be letting the little guy down. "You probably don't even want to know anything personal, right?"

There was no real way to explain it, but Castiel was wrong. Dean wanted to know  _all_  of the personal things about this man. He didn't know why. He didn't want to think too hard on it, anyway, because he was sure he wouldn't like the answer. "I care," he whispered. "I do…. I'm just a bit distracted. Go ahead. Tell me all about your, uh…your house. I'm listening, okay? I am. But first…." He snatched a napkin up off the table and held it towards Castiel, averting his eyes in slight shame. "Wipe your mouth? There's ketchup and it's distracting. So…just do it, alright?"

"Distracting?" Castiel took the napkin cautiously and swiped over his mouth. "And why is that distracting, exactly?"

The words flew before he could stop them. "Because all I could think about is helping you clean it up." And after they were in the air, the growing tension between them rushed to full force. He hissed in a breath as he felt it – his skin buzzing with electricity, the quickened force of his heartbeat, the yearning ache in his throat.

"You could have. I would have tried my hardest not to scream." Castiel's voice was so playful, but his eyes were nothing but fire. They burned into Dean's very core, scorching away everything he thought he knew. Who knew the color blue could be so scalding?

"You really should tell me about your house, now," was all Dean could breathe out. His throat was so constricted with uncomfortable passion and conflicting feelings; things he was having difficulty getting past. Things that were getting more and more difficult to ignore the more time he spent with this man across from him. "Tell me in detail. Tell me all about it."

The deep chuckle that came from deep inside Castiel's chest filled the room. It surrounded Dean along with the man's words. He spoke of an empty house too big for one man. He spoke of meandering through the halls aimlessly. He spoke of a big backyard that he never used and a garden that never produced much of worth. He spoke of so many things, but not in the way Dean was expecting. He thought he would hear descriptions of the rooms and colors of the walls.

This didn't turn out to be the distraction he was yearning for. If anything, it only intensified the wayward path of his thoughts. It made him warm towards Castiel. It made him soft and kind and desperate to please. It made him feel sympathy in ways he never wanted to. He didn't want these feelings. Not with this person. Not with anyone.

He was fine in his life. Why couldn't he just be left alone in his own damn life?!

"Cas?"

Dean interrupted the despondent slew of words mid-sentence again. He was on the edge of his chair and a hitch in his tone spoke of his failure to hold back. "Yes, Dean?" Castiel sat up straighter and looked ready for anything. Or…maybe more like hopeful.

"I…. I don't know what I'm doing here. But I do know that I've begun to enjoy having you in my life. You feel like the romantic beginnings of a new addiction. You feel like relief and escape. You feel like something I  _need_  to hold onto selfishly and irrationally. It's not a feeling I understand. It's not a feeling that even makes me comfortable because you're a  _man_  and…that's not me. I'm not into that." He looked up and met Castiel's curious, deep blue gaze. "But I don't think I'm strong enough to fight this calling for that reason only. Whatever that means." He gave a single, mirthless laugh and shrugged pathetically. He was lost. He was hapless. Hopeless. And that, unfortunately, made him vulnerable.

In essence, Dean was always vulnerable. He was open and malleable. As a child, he was the good little soldier – complying with whatever order Daddy barked. As a teenager, he caved heavily and without much fight into even the slightest peer pressure. As an adult, he went along with whatever flow was thrown into his life. He did anything he could to keep Ben happy, ensuring his well-being above even his own oftentimes. He would take whatever hours Benny needed him at the store. And he would work for literally nothing because he knew his friend needed the labor far worse than he could afford to pay for.

And right now? He was one-hundred-percent susceptible to a kind person who thought Dean's son was smart. Castiel was hitting all of those unguarded spots and he wasn't even aware of it, most likely. "Maybe it's the consistent sex hair paired with those ridiculously innocent laugh lines. Or that your gravelly singing voice feels like you've got claws in my heart. Or…it could just be that you're a really great person and you take interest in someone that means the world to me. I don't  _know_. All I know is…fighting the things you do to me is becoming too difficult to handle. And if I throw myself into something too difficult, I'll start looking for a way out. And that way out is always worse than the initial problem…."

"Dean." His breath ragged and his hands fidgety in the greasy wrappers, Dean forced himself to keep Castiel's gaze. He was feeling humiliated and torn open. But if he was going to really listen to Ellen's advice this time (she had never been wrong, why not listen to her?), he needed to do this. Needed to get through this. "Dean, I get the feeling you like to run and hide from your problems. That it's your weakness. Is that…correct?"

Dean gave a minimal nod in response, finishing off the dregs in his bottle.

"Then I'm not going to let you run. And I'm not going to let you hide. And you're just going to have to find some way to get used to that."


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anything, I'm going to warn of the extremely heteroness of this chapter. It is essential to the story, however, and it's actually a chapter I've been planning for awhile. It's your first glimpse into Dean's backstory and it's...it's Dean at his Deaniest.  
> As always, thanks for reading and please be sure to leave a comment! Thanks!

 

**September** **1998**

Dean wished there were quiet mornings to revel in.

He wished he could wake as the sun peaked through the blinds, blinking and smacking the taste of sleep from his mouth. That he could roll over and bury his face into Lisa's pillow. That he could breathe in the lavender scent of her shampoo and the sickly sweet of her spent sweat. That she would stretch in his arms like a slow-waking cat, giving him a lazy smile and a soft 'hello, handsome'.

But none of this was Dean's reality. None of this was Dean's home.

Lisa always came out of it first. She was never in bed when Dean awoke. Often times, she wasn't even in the house anymore. Sometimes she would be just out on the balcony, chain smoking between popping anything they had handy. Sometimes she left entirely, returning hours later with a half-empty two-liter of Mountain Dew and the stench of regret on her breath.

The only thing Dean cared about was that she always came back.

The sun was nearly setting by the time Dean actually pulled himself back into the world. His head was cloudy and there was a dull ache in his temple. Covering his eyes to keep the pain at bay, he groaned and blindly dug through the bedside table. A few pills – he wasn't sure what – found their way to his fingertips and a moment later he was swallowing them dry.

He waited the time it took them to kick in before pulling himself from between the sheets. Or…more like out from under the tattered quilt that served as their sheets these days. He knew there were clean ones in the dryer. They'd been washed several times over the past few days. But he couldn't bring himself to care enough to put them on the mattress. Nor did he think he could stomach the smell of clean any longer as he slept.

"Lis?" Dean whispered, not expecting much of an answer as he shuffled out of the bedroom. His feet made bare slaps upon the hardwood floors, echoing through the little apartment. He stopped in the doorway, taking a sweep around to confirm that he was alone. Softly, he sighed and continued his lazy movements towards the coffee pot. As was routine, he pressed his fingertips to the glass of the pot, disappointed as always to find that it was ice cold.

Lisa had been gone for hours.

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Dean shuffled the few steps to the torn-apart couch and plopped down upon the stain-hardened cushions. He wrinkled his nose at the feel of it against his fully-naked skin, but didn't make the decision to move.

If fact, he didn't move for another hour after that. Despite whatever he had popped, his head was still aching dully. He knew there was nothing in the apartment to fix it. There was no need to forage for it. They'd used the rest the night before. Binged like they always swore they wouldn't again. The only hope he could harbor was that Lisa was currently taking care of it.

The sky was fully darkened by the time the front door creaked open. Dean slowly turned to watch Lisa slip inside. "Why don't you ever wear clothes, Dean?" she sighed, tossing her keys on the kitchen counter and leaning against the closed door.

Finally, Dean pushed up off the disgusting cushion. He padded towards the woman, wasting no time in pressing up against her. "Don't pretend you don't like it," he chuckled, slipping his hands into her back pockets. Coming up with nothing, he moved to the front ones and still ended up empty.

"I don't have anything, Dean," Lisa said with a shrug. Like it was that simple. She had been gone for who knows how long (at least an hour) and she'd come back…with nothing? How was that possible? She wasn't even kind as she pushed him away, moving to the fridge. For a long moment, she stared inside. Aimless. Then slammed it shut with another sigh and whipped back around. "There's nothing to fucking eat. Why don't you make yourself useful and get me something to eat?"

There was no doubt in Dean's heart that he did love this woman. He wasn't sure how that was possible – they'd only known one another for just a month. And the only way they really knew each other was intense. It was always high highs and low lows. From the first night they met, they found themselves stuck in this co-dependent relationship. It was incredible. There was no doubting or denying that.

Lisa Braeden was one of the very few things that he'd had in his life that he didn't want to run from. That he didn't want to push away and ignore. He was eagerly passionate with her whenever she allowed. She was the most important thing he'd ever had in his life.

And sometimes, she wasn't even that great.

"What do you mean you have nothing?" Dean asked quietly, ignoring the jab and the order for the moment. "Where the fuck have you been, Lis?"

She didn't want to answer. The forming lies were clear in her eyes, as always. She wasn't a good liar. Not even remotely on her best, most sober day. "I was…out, Dean. Just out. Walking and thinking and trying to avoid thinking about your poor performance last night."

Another jab. Her unnecessary aggression usually meant that she was working a hangover. A nasty comedown. So, perhaps, she wasn't lying about not having anything to take on her person. With a roll of his eyes, Dean moved off to dress. His own descent had finally plateaued, leaving him numb and fragile. It felt like he was made of glass, fissures threatening to crack him in a million tiny pieces if he weren't delicate enough with himself.

"Do you remember the night we met, Dean?" Lisa stood in the doorway, her eyes glued to the floor as Dean pulled a shirt weeks past his prime over his head. "Because I do. I remember it rather well, actually, because…because you were a complete mess. And you haven't cleaned up since." She stomped over to him, her thick heels leaving scuffs on the wood. "You're always one nudge away from toppling over the edge. And somehow…you seem to just barely recover once you do tip over. But not enough to walk away and learn a lesson. Just enough to stay in that same dangerous spot. Just enough to know you could take a few steps back and go to a safe place. But not enough to actually understand that you should."

Dean had never heard his life laid out so eloquently. His troubles and struggles and inner battles. He slowed in his process, pants pulled up over his backside, sitting unbuttoned and unzipped. Forgotten. He looked up at Lisa, the ghosts of tears in his eyes. His vision swimming. His will just barely holding everything back.

Every single word she said was true. The night they met…well, it was a bit of a haze for him. He could remember the stench of debauchery and bad decisions in the air still. It was an acrid smell that would stay with a person all their life.

He had just arrived in Cicero. A loose friend had pulled him here, but left him for a better escape the second he could. He'd left home a year and a half ago, just shy of graduating high school and just fed up enough not to care. Since then, he'd been bustling around from place to place much like this. Chasing something or another to keep him good and distracted. Whatever helped, really. Pills, drugs, drinking, sex, the momentary high of thievery. Anything to try and patch the permanent scar his father had tried to beat into him that last night.

The split lip had healed and the cracked rib was starting to ache less and less every day. But the pit inside of him was just deep enough that he couldn't fill it with anything to tried to throw down it.

So, Lisa was right. He had been broken that night. And in that broken state, she and the momentarily relief she offered seemed like some twisted version of heaven. A heaven that appealed to addicts and screw-ups. She had drugs and an incredible libido. It didn't take long for Dean to get hooked and take up residency in her life. He forced himself in, leaning on her like a crutch. Getting as high as he could as often as he could and using her body as a means of expression just to forget. To  _try_  and forget.

"You really got nothin'?" he whispered, the hollowness of his eyes attempting to burn a hole into her soul. "Nothin' at all?"

Lisa shook her head slowly back and forth, watching him carefully. "No. I…don't have anything to give you. You want something to kill yourself with so bad,  _you_  go out and get it. Okay?"

She often liked to pretend that she wasn't as bad and addict as he was. That she could go without the drugs and the drinking – no sweat. That the emptiness wasn't eating her alive from the inside. But because she was such a terrible liar, Dean could see the memories eating her alive every sober second of her life.

And in those moments, he knew that she needed him just as much as he needed her. They were just two junkies pushing and pulling on one another to satisfy their craving for something real and meaningful. They were toxic.

Nodding, Dean closed up his jeans and searched for his wallet. He pulled it open, revealing the pathetic contents it had dwindled down to. Before leaving home, he'd had close to a grand saved up. He'd squirreled it away from odd jobs and loose change his father had left lying around in his catatonic states. While on his own, he'd had enough diligence to use it sparingly. To get as much as he could off of others before resorting to the stash. Because of that, he was left with the few bills he still had. But as he thumbed through them, he found that he'd come to the end of his safety net. Twenty-six dollars and twelve cents. That was it. It wasn't even enough to get a decent score.

"I can get us, like…a fourth a gram," he muttered, recounting it just in case he'd missed a bill. The resulting tally was the same, and he groaned harshly at it.

"That's it?" Lisa spat. "That's the  _best_  you can do?" Her reaction was dramatic, like a child throwing a tantrum. She kicked her heel and threw her purse at him across the room while screaming. "When are you going to get a fucking  _job_?!"

Dean could argue that she didn't have a job. That she was two months behind on her rent. That the only money that rolled in for them came from unsavory means. From pimping herself out to anyone willing to pay. From using her past experience as a yoga instructor to give men wild times they would never forget. Ones she reserved for paying customers. Ones he never even had a chance at getting a glimpse into. A fact that she held over his head any time he couldn't quite make the grade.

But there was no use in arguing with Lisa. Not in this state. He shrugged and headed for the door. "Fine. I'll get one. I'll get a job and help you pay for this shithole." He kicked out at a pile of discarded takeout boxes to emphasize his point. "I guess I'm just that great of a fucking boyfriend."

"You're  _not_  my boyfriend, Dean Winchester!"

It was a punch to the gut. Throughout the last month or so (he hadn't been keeping track) neither of them had put a name to whatever this was. He was living with Lisa and spent every night in her bed. He was faithful and she was…well, aside from her 'business', he was sure she was as well. That didn't count, anyway. If a man had to pay for her time, it didn't mean a damn thing. But they had never given a label to it. It had never felt necessary.

This was the first time he had ever called himself her boyfriend. The first time he had thought about them in such a romantic light. Sure, he thought about it. It was often a thought that roamed through his mind. Lisa Braeden was the closest thing he'd ever had to a girlfriend. She was always there for him. Most often, he spoke to her when she was passed out. But it sort of…felt like she was listening. And what they had was great. It was fiery and passionate and candid. It was also co-dependent and…that was something he needed. Desperately.

Apparently Lisa didn't have the same sorts of feelings.

"Yeah, I know that, Lis," Dean said, the pain prevalent in his voice. He kept it low, but there was no mistaking the quaver of hurt and longing. "I, uh…. Whatever, it doesn't matter. We don't need labels. No biggie."

 _I need labels_ , he found himself thinking.  _I need that sort of…comfort and control in my life._

"That's right. We don't." Lisa's footsteps were softer as she came to him. She'd kicked off her boots, shedding a more aggressive side of herself. Her bipolar emotions giving him whiplash, per usual. The kind of inconsistency and erratic behavior that he'd come to crave from her. "All we need…is what we have. And what we have…is  _fucking_."

The way she said the word felt like sharp nails digging into Dean's skin. He nodded along with them, watching her step closer and closer. Her motions were predatory like a cat. Her eyes narrowed and she practically reeked of pheromones. She was drawing him in, ready to sink her teeth into him the moment he gave.

And gave he did, as always. He keened forward the instant he could feel her breath upon his skin. The instant she was close enough to lurch at him, throw herself into his arms.

These were the good times. The times where Dean could forget why they were both really here. The times where they were happy just being with one another. When neither of them were hopped up on something,  _anything_. When they were sober and real and open for one another to embrace. It was a soft kind of thinking, he was aware. The kind of thinking that she would likely poke fun at if he were to voice these feelings aloud.

So he kept them inside. He buried them deep whenever he caught them making their way to the fore-front of his mind. And in that moment, he used it to fuel his rough actions. His fingers dug into Lisa's shoulders, pulling her close.

A reckless moan drifted between them, uncertain who it erupted from. Dean's lips connected with Lisa's, feeding off of her fire for the moment. Using her anger and frustration with him as passion. He pretended it felt like love. That it felt like something normal and real. He pretended he could live with this for the rest of his life and be content. Pretending was something he was expert at – he'd been perfecting it all his life.

Being that the apartment was so small, it only took a few steps to push Lisa back towards the bedroom. The backs of her ankles hit the mattress sitting upon the floor and she fell. Somehow she made it look sexy, falling such a long way to the bed without a frame. She always made it look sexy. She was always  _on_. It was almost like she was an actress who couldn't separate the real world from those she projected herself into.

Throughout the last month, a rhythm had been perfected between the two of them. Dean knew where to suckle and touch in order to coax a moan. He knew the exact way her eyes glazed over when she needed more than kisses. He knew the hooks of her bras and was fast at releasing them. He knew that she'd smile if he was rough in pulling her panties off. He knew the speed of her breath when his tongue was working her open the correct way. He knew that when she began to rut, it was a signal that she was ready for  _more_.

He knew her inside and out. She liked to start normal and vanilla. She liked it when he loomed over her, her fingers gently gliding him in. She liked the small period of adjustment he gave where his green eyes wouldn't leave the rich brown of her own. She liked the gentle rocking he would start with once she surged up to capture his lips.

But the instant she was fed up with soft and sweet, he also knew that she would take charge. Positions would be flipped and she'd nearly go cross-eyed whenever she finally found the right one. They'd work together, playing off of one another's small cues for  _more_  or  _ugh, yes, faster_. When they were sober, he'd reach his pique fast. Lisa was much slower to hers, craving for attention.

Feeling a release looming (and desperate to go over the edge after the frustration of the night previous), Dean found a rougher pace. He slipped a hand between them, trailing through the sweat on Lisa's chest and down towards her abdomen. The pad of his thumb caressed the base of her stomach, playing with the stimulated sensitivity of her skin. When she whispered his name, reaching up to fist a chunk of his hair, he ventured lower. Like a good boy…. His forefinger found that perfect spot in nearly no time. He worked it until she was tense and on the edge. Until he could feel her hips taught and her breathing stilling.

She came down over that edge just seconds before Dean felt like he couldn't hold out any longer. Taking it as permission, he let go and quickly pulled out. He came upon their stomachs, grateful that he'd remembered his lack of condom this time. Other times…they hadn't been so lucky. And that always ended in an angry scolding. Which ended in Lisa storming out, returning blackout drunk hours later.

Weariness settled in as Dean milked the rest of his orgasm. He fell heavily back upon the mattress, not even caring that he was dangerously close to falling off the edge. Lisa untangled from him, looking about the same. Looking tired and just  _done_. Spent.

"This is why we work well just fucking," she whispered, using her hastily discarded shirt to clean her stomach. "There's no way you can call that anything else."

Dean would love to disagree. He wanted to say that relationships could work the same way. They could be  _together_  and still fuck the same way. But he knew she wouldn't listen. And he knew that he was uncertain about the commitment of it, as well. He'd find some way to fuck this up if they slapped a name on it. It was better this way.

"Now go get that job, alright? I'm gonna sleep. Don't wake me when you get back. Unless you have crystal…. "

He could have very easily fallen asleep right there. It would have taken two more seconds with his eyes closed for Dean to be gone. Holding back a sob, he pushed himself up and looked over at Lisa. Her eyes were closed and she was curled up in that same near-fetal position she always slept in. He envied her, but wasn't ready for whatever 'disobeying' her might entail.

Feeling a swell of pride, a need to please, Dean dressed again. This time, though, he dug into his duffel bag and found the cleanest shirt he owned. He slipped his dad's old leather jacket over top (a memento he resented holding onto, but could never part with) and was quiet as he snuck out of the apartment.

"Love you, Lis," he whispered after the door clicked shut. He pressed his fingers to the wood, patting it gently in resolution. Determination swelled inside of him. He wanted- No,  _needed_  to please her. Needed to show her that he was more than a pathetic junkie. He needed to show her that he was worth something and could be something. That he could get a job and get them crap like food and toilet paper with a real paycheck.

It was important for Lisa to see him as  _something_. It was important for her to know he could do well. She was someone he wanted to make proud. And for that, he would do whatever it took.

He loved Lisa Braeden to his very core. He was going to marry her one day. Not much thinking went into the future besides that. But this was something he knew needed to happen. They were sick and broken, but they were sick and broken together.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to preface this chapter with, really. Just that I enjoy reading your guys' comments. Every time I get one, I squeal like a little girl. Just know you have that effect on me ;) Keep up the good work!

 

**October 2007**

Alarm and caution were the first two thoughts of Dean's morning. His eyes flew open wide, awakening as soon as he became aware of the situation he would have to face.

Not feeling like he needed much more, Dean a few years ago had bought himself a twin bed. By saving on size, he was able to spend a little extra on old, slightly rundown and definitely used memory foam. It was one of the few luxuries he had truly allowed himself. He hadn't even thought twice about it or the implications it could have.

Until that morning, that was.

Twin beds weren't built for two people; there wasn't much room for personal space. Snuggling was inevitable and that's why Dean woke with a man's arm nestled over his chest. A head on his shoulder. A leg thrown haphazardly over his own. And, most likely unrelated, an embarrassing tent to his sleep pants.

A long stream of swears ran though his mind, trying to search for an out without moving too much. Without jostling the other man awake, creating further problems and awkwardness. Very carefully, he tried to pull the right side of his body away. At the moment, he felt his only option was to slip out from under the random limbs and slide onto the floor. Then he could make his escape. He just needed to get loose….

"If you would like me to move, you can just ask me."

Startled by the words, Dean overthrew his actions. He ended up on the floor, alright, but it was in a much harsher fashion than he would have liked. He hit the carpet hard, his head cracking against the nightstand. " _Fuck_ ," he muttered, shuffling into a sitting position that hid the swelling in his groin. "You were awake?!" he nearly shouted, his voice far more indignant than necessary.

The night previous hit him in waves then, just as Castiel broke out into a half-shy smile and laid back upon the pillow.

Nothing had happened. That much he knew and that much he felt was rather important. He could remember it all very clearly and he knew that this was nothing like that night a few months ago. Details weren't blurred by alcohol consumption or humiliation this time.

It had all been so…innocent. So normal. So comforting.

xXxXxXxXx

 _Castiel's statement had been rough. It hit Dean square in the chest with all the force of a hurricane. He found his cheeks turning read, slightly embarrassed by the intensity currently floating between them. And at the same time…he was ready to puff up like a preening bird. This guy cared. It was uncertain as to why, but he_ cared _. And that was…well, it was a bit foreign. It was a bit sudden. And it was a bit terrifying._

 _Desperate for a change of subject, Dean hastily cleared his throat and curled his trash into a tight ball. "Hey, so…I talked to Ben this morning about that homework stuff?" Feeling an unnecessarily intense need to show up, he aimed for the trash can, sinking a 'basket'_ just barely _._

_Looking as if he'd just been slapped upside the head with a rotten fish, Castiel just…stood there. He blinked, crossing his arms as his head tilted and his eyes narrowed. He looked the exact definition of perplexed. Caught off guard. Whiplashed. "That's…that's great, Dean," he said under his breath, like he couldn't quite manage a normal pitch at that moment._

" _Yeah, uh…he'll be turning stuff in from now on. And probably fighting a little more, but I can handle that. As long as he's defending himself and doing good in school and…." Dean caught the unimpressed look. Caught the coming reprimand about violence and his lax parenting. He stopped it with a raised palm, shaking his head quickly back and forth. "But since you're his teacher, we're going to forget I said that, alright?"_

_After a long moment of calculation, Castiel nodded in assent. And, again, they were left with silence._

" _So…you're a Beatles fan, huh?"_

_Castiel nodded once more, giving a soft shrug. "On occasion. Generally, though, I'm more into newer music. You?"_

" _Ha! You'd be lucky to catch me listening to something recorded in the last twenty years."_

" _So you listen to fossil music."_

" _Hey!" Dean tugged almost nervously on the hem of his Bob Seger t-shirt. It was worn and had holes in several places. Motor oil stained the collar, matched well by the way-faded black. It was a shirt he'd stolen from his dad's friend Bobby years upon years ago. And remembering that fact had him rethinking his indignation. He just might listen to 'fossil music'…. "Alright, Mr. Hip – what's good music to_ you _?"_

" _Don't laugh…."_

_Frowning, Dean shrugged like he was consenting. Even though Castiel had practically just been doing the same to him a moment ago…._

_After holding up a finger to ask for a moment, Castiel pulled his cell from his pocket. A BlackBerry. Of course the guy had a BlackBerry. He fiddled with a few buttons, then held the phone up with the speaker facing Dean. His face was stone-emotionless with just the barest of a worried twitch in the corner of his lips._

_A moment later, a soft music began to play. Very soft and very…airy. Light. Uplifting. He almost could guess what was coming from that first instrumental tinkling of sound. This suspicion was confirmed when a man with a just-peeking Australian accent started to sing. His words were soothing and his lyrics were all about change and hope. "'I wanna start it over. I wanna start again. I want a new beginning; one without an end.'"_

" _What is this?" Dean chuckled, feeling like he'd heard enough. Castiel quickly shushed him with a finger to his lips, pulling his BlackBerry back a bit so he could enjoy the song for himself. The spark in his eyes was brilliant and bright, brought out by this music he seemed to have an undeniable passion for. Dean felt guilt for laughing, but…seriously? This was music to the weirdo?_

_The song picked up a bit, getting happier. Getting more positive. "'It's a voice that whispers my name. It's a kiss without any shame. Something beautiful.'"_

" _No offense, Cas…but this sounds kinda like Jesus-freaky kinda stuff."_

" _That's because it is." Castiel's tone was defiant and sure. He wasn't even ashamed of his love for this…whatever it was. He silenced the music after a few more lyrics, repocketing his phone. "No offense meant towards you…but I am rather spiritual. And I do enjoy so-called 'Christian' music."_

" _But you're gay."_

" _Yes…but I'm also very capable of dulling my lust for cocks just enough to be able to recognize the presence of a higher power."_

_Castiel had a very dry sense of humor. Unsure of himself, caught off guard, Dean burbled a half-hearted laugh and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Sure, of course. I didn't mean…that you weren't capable…."_

" _It's fine, Dean. You just might want to think about the fact that not everyone caters to stereotypes."  
_

" _I can try. So, uh…why do you like that crap? I mean…what's the appeal?"_

" _Hope and purity and love. Things that go beyond fleeting thirst and numbed senses."_

_Fleeting thirst…numbed senses…. Dean's past could be summed up with just those two ideals, he was sure. His throat felt suddenly parched as he pushed out of his chair again. A restless feeling drifting through his legs, he made his way to the fridge and grabbed the last of his six-pack. He offered once to the other before rushing for a swig of his own. "Alright, I get that. But I guarantee you there are better songs than that one. Ones that won't leave you feeling like you just stepped out of Sunday School."_

_All Castiel managed was a half-hearted shrug in response. He looked over at the beer he still had, reaching out to finish the last bit before struggling to open the new one. After a hissed breath in followed by a soft 'ow', he was matching Dean's deep gulp. "City or the country?" he broke the silence with after they both gave uncomfortable shifts._

" _The woods," Dean answered. That cabin was obviously still stuck good and concentrated in his mind. "What car do you drive?"_

_Ducking his head, Castiel mumbled at the tile. "A, uh, Lincoln Continental."_

" _Year?"_

" _Seventy…something. I don't know. Old." As if he sensed the eye roll without raising his own from the floor, Castiel quickly continued their little game. "First kiss?"_

" _Mm," Dean snorted into the lip of his bottle. "Sixteen. Girl named Robin. Met her…." He waved the thought away, not sure telling Castiel the entire story about stealing and being sent by his callous father to a boy's home was a desirable option. "She played the guitar and liked working on cars. A good listener. And…and a sweet girl. Damn near broke my own heart leaving that one behind," he laughed, not a single trace of fondness in it. "First fuck?"_

 _Head whipping up, Castiel leveled a near-petrified look at Dean. It was like he couldn't believe the other man had even_ dared _to ask such a question! Dean only grinned, eyebrow raising to signal that he expected an answer. "That seems a bit private…. But, if you insist, the first person I ever had sex with...was the pastor's son at my parents' church. His name doesn't matter, because you'll never meet him."_

"More _," Dean ground out, his voice gravelly and dark from the beer._

" _For someone who's not gay, you sure have quite an interest in gay sex life." Dean didn't even have the frame of mind for a glare at the jab. He merely shrugged and made a circular motion with his hand, telling Castiel to keep going. "_ Fine _. We were seventeen. Neither of us were out. Well, he's still not…married with six kids. We were at church camp over the summer and stayed in the same cabin. I suppose we flirted all week and sat next to one another in the pews and at dinner and always buddied up. Last night of the camp…. He was in the bunk above mine. On the last night, he leaned down and whispered that we should sneak out. He thought he'd left…something on the bridge over the river and wanted me to go with him to get it. A terrible excuse if you ask me._

" _Anyway, we did just that and walked down to the bridge. Turned out he had been lying – a huge surprise, right? He just wanted to get me alone unsupervised…so he could kiss me. Which, was also my first kiss, by the way. From there…I don't know. Things just happened. He said he loved me and knew it was a sin, but he just wanted to see what that love could be like before he believed the Bible. Neither of us knew what we were doing. We didn't have lube, obviously, so he ended up in tears. It didn't last long, luckily, but by the time I finished…." Castiel wiped a slightly-shaking hand over his mouth, then up across the corner of his eye. Wiping away remorseful tears that had long since dried._

" _He hated me after that. Ran away as best he could, blood and cum leaking down his leg. Wouldn't speak to me the rest of our time there. Wouldn't even speak to me at all, actually. He'd go out of his way to avoid me. He'd walk away as soon as he saw me coming. All I wanted was to apologize…but he wasn't ready for that, I suppose. And when people began asking questions, he apparently didn't have a problem outing me and saying he was just trying to avoid my 'homosexual advances'._

" _So, there you have it. My first fuck…."_

_Dean was unsure what to say in response. He stared ahead at the man, eyes wide for what seemed like hours. Just staring and trying to catch something besides a lack of self-worth in Castiel's eyes. "It's real fucked up he did that to you," was all he could think to say when he did find words. "Sorry…."_

" _It's all in the past," Castiel grumbled. "He's the one still living a lie…and I'm not. So, in the end…." He ended with a pathetic raise of his shoulders that fell into a deep slump._

"Star Trek  _or_  Star Wars _?" Dean's way of fixing the bad vibes in the room was to ignore them completely. He slipped into an easy stance and donned a worriless smile. Had Castiel just been talking about something traumatic he'd been through? No one would ever know because Dean was grinning like a total idiot._

_As if he was unsure on how to recover, Castiel waited in silence another couple seconds. He did that little squinty thing again that Dean had come to know over their few exchanges as a general thinking gesture for him. "Neither? I can't say I've seen a minute of either one."_

_Dean scoffed and threw his hands up in the air._

" _What…?"_

" _I'm just trying to figure out why my_ whatever _it is…seems to like you…."_

xXxXxXxXx

Despite his words, Dean was entirely sure by the end of the night that he did like Castiel. He liked him in a way that was definitely more than friendly. And he liked him in a way that made thinking near impossible at times. Like when the man would give a rare full-fledged smile or struggle to hold back a laugh or suggested that they move this conversation somewhere a bit more comfortable.

Comfortable had turned out to be the bedroom. Castiel had asked for a tour and this was the location he chose. He walked into Dean's bedroom like he  _belonged_  there and settled onto the middle of the foot of the mattress. The way he moved and maneuvered said that this was easy for him. It was normal. Inviting himself into a guy's bedroom was an everyday occurrence. But the way he nervously fidgeted with the ratty comforter said otherwise.

Even this morning, Dean could still see a bit of the hesitance. He was lying on Dean's pillow, but he looked ready to get up at any moment. He was beneath the covers, but he wasn't nestled in fully. A bit of him still remained aloof. Prepared. Dean could even see a few fingers curled into the edge of the sheets, able to pull them away within a moment's notice. "Sorry," Castiel muttered. "I should have…detangled myself. That was crossing boundaries on my part, and I apologize."

"It's fine," Dean found himself saying. He wasn't sure if that was true, but for now it was a good enough reply.

When they both grew weary somewhere around four in the morning, somehow they had ended up snuggled together upon the pillow in the tiny bed. Dean had rationalized that it was for warmth and convenience. Parts inside of him argued otherwise, but they were obviously ignored. Castiel had even offered to sleep on the couch or go home entirely. But Dean had been the one to wave all such notions away. What was the point? They were there already and….

And he would be lying if he'd said he wasn't curious.

It felt normal. They fell asleep with no problem, Castiel leaning up to press a gentle kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth just before drifting out of consciousness. It was the complete opposite of what Dean would have expected. There was nothing ooky or forbidden about it. It was just like sleeping next to a woman. (If anything, it might have even been a bit better because  _holy shit_ , Castiel radiated enough heat to kindle a house fire.)

He'd made these decisions in the night. There was no reason for freaking out in the morning. It was something he had to remind himself of before he could even think about getting up off the floor. Slowly, he raised himself up and made a quick exit for his bathroom.

Once sealed inside, things felt a little more comfortable. He was able to breathe in peace, settling in front of the sink. His eyes met in the mirror. For once, it looked like he'd actually avoided a decent night's sleep. There were puffy, minimal bags beneath the wear-drenched green. It had been quite some time since he felt so exhausted. There was no way he could deny the small rush it gave him. It wasn't anything akin to danger, but staying up into the wee hours of the morning was a bad habit. Bad habits were something he avoided most often these days. Even a minimal one came with a small surge of adrenaline.

Shaking his head to clear the thought, Dean looked down at himself. Down at the still-persistent raise to his crotch. "Why?" he muttered down at it, knowing full well the answer. It just wasn't an answer he particularly liked. Not since it involved a man –  _that man out there_.

With a resigned sigh, Dean tugged his pajama pants down just enough to free his cock. One hand curled around the basin of the sink for leverage, the other reached for the lotion pump. He curled the slick digits around his length and vowed to make quick work of it. His mind dreamed up an image straight out of last month's issue of  _Busty Asian Beauties_  behind his closed lids. That usually did the trick for this sort of thing.

Usually. Meaning most of the time.

Except for that morning.

He knew his body. He knew the tugs and pulls and thrusts that could bring him to the edge. He'd had about eight years of practice. Sex had been something few and far between since Ben came into his life. Very few and way far between. So he'd learned a lot about his body in that time, often having to make the pleasure as quick as possible. Ben had been a rather clingy child in his young years….

None of those usual tricks worked that morning. Not the images, not the rough touches, not the soft touches. Nothing.

Not until he let the stray thought of Castiel down on his knees, cheeks hollowed somehow drifted past his mental filters, that was.

Gasping for a startled breath, Dean lost his concentration. He shook his head, trying to clear the image. He resquared his feet. He gripped at the sink in a far more vicious fashion. But he couldn't get the thrill that thought gave him to leave. A part of him held onto that. He recalled with too much clarity the wet heat of Cas' mouth. The gentle caress of his tongue along the sensitive underside of Dean's dick. The surety with which he massaged Dean's balls. How easily he was able to take every last inch of it down his throat.

"Shit," Dean whispered, eyes drifting closed and giving in. He keened forward into the memory, trying as best he could to replace the idea of his hand with Castiel's spit-soaked lips. The sensations were far from being similar, but if he tried hard enough…. "Shit, Cas…," he found himself whispering, spreading the steady flow of precome over the tip.

He didn't hear the door open behind him. He couldn't hear anything past the blood rushing in his ears. So when a hand settled on his hip and a pair of lips pressed a kiss behind his ear, Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. "I want to help…," that deep voice whispered as its only explanation. As if that was supposed to explain everything. If he had more of his brain focused on the situation, Dean would have protested. (At least, that's what he would tell himself later.)

But in that moment, he was powerless to refuse. Once Castiel's other hand slipped around to push Dean's out of the way, he was gone. He was done. He couldn't even hope to get out a 'no' because he  _needed_  this.

Dean had missed Castiel grabbing his own handful of lotion. He was grateful for it, though, and grateful for the way he picked the pace right up. The other didn't mess with anything slow or teasing. He could sense how badly Dean needed to get this over and done with and obliged.

Neither spoke throughout the exchange. Dean didn't utter anything besides the moans he tried so hard to stifle. Castiel barely even breathed. It was as if they existed in silent space – just the two of them. Uncertainly sharing this. Uncertainly testing boundaries. Uncertainly wanting this and nothing more.

The end snuck up on Dean fast and harsh. His knees shook as it built up, stumbling closer to the sink and grasping at it with his other hand for balance. He tipped over the edge without a word. Without a sound. His head snapped back against Castiel's shoulder, catching a glimpse of how undone he looked in the mirror.

As well as glimpsing the pride swelling in Castiel's deep blue eyes as he milked Dean into his exhaustion.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even want to know how long it's been since I updated.... For awhile there, I was working two jobs. I had absolutely zero time to get any writing done. This chapter is something I've been working on for MONTHS. And it's finally finished! And I'm super excited about it.The reason why, though, is even more exciting than anything I could have planned.  
> My wonderful friend [ArchofImagine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/archofimagine) was kind enough to lend me a couple of her characters. If you've read her works, you'll recognize them easily. If not, GO READ THEM DAMMIT. She's wonderful. Paul and Brie are...OCs, but not? Basically, Paul is Gadreel with a better name. And Brie...think Danneel. They were very useful to me and I love them and it was an honor to be able to utilize their greatness.  
> Now, without further ado, I give you the sixth chapter and all it's wonder!

 

**November 2007**

Dean tried to wait as long as possible to see Castiel again after that morning. They didn't part on amicable terms. It was awkward. Dean didn't know how to respond to what they'd done. Castiel didn't know how to detach.

They left things how they were bound to – messy and full of questions.

A couple weeks passed before Dean could even look at the other's name in his phone. Before he could even consider contacting him at all again. He had to take that time to think. And think. And think some more.

He didn't know what he wanted. No, that wasn't right. He knew what he  _wanted_. By now, he was pretty sure he couldn't deny that any longer. Not when his dreams were relentless and his moans in the night persistent. Not when Castiel occupied every one of his free thoughts. By this point, he could only be concerned with what he could handle and what he deserved.

What he could handle seemed to be a thin spread. Dean could feel the anxiety in every single inch of his muscles when he tried to think about this situation. He would tense up and hunger for a way out. It was too rough. Too different. Too fear-inducing. The whole ordeal held an overtone of uncertainty and the unknown. These were things he was sure he could be ready for…eventually. But now? And with a man?  _This_  man?

What Dean deserved was another problem entirely….

Castiel seemed like a good guy. He was smart and caring and spiritual in ways Dean would probably never understand. He wanted to believe in the good of the world. His life experiences involved graduation and college and growth and real family. He may have had hardships, but in comparison…they could have probably been relatively nothing.

The paths of Dean and Castiel's lives were as different as a river and a sidewalk.

The first time he saw the man since  _it_  happened, Dean was dropping Ben off at school. He'd been making it a routine to drive up, say goodbye, and leave. No dawdling. No looking around. No possible risk of seeing someone who might…trip him up.

There was no reason for it on this day. Subconsciously…yes, he was possibly thinking that it had been two weeks to the  _day_  since they…. And maybe he let his eyes trail off for just a single second. But seeing Castiel was purely an accident! It wasn't like he had fully scanned the parking lot, fully ignoring his son's goodbye the instant he finally found what he was looking for. And…it was also coincidence that his car happened to move forward just as the man happened to cross in front of it.

His eyes fully trained upon his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration, Castiel was absolutely oblivious to the movement. It wasn't until the front bumper gently tapped his leg that he changed his habit even slightly. And, at that point, all he did was raise a hand in…apology? His eyes still trained downwards and his steps much quicker.

Even if this had been some sort of "plan" that Dean thought out and executed…. It clearly wasn't a very good one.

He tore out of the parking lot with a vengeance, the tires of the Impala squealing to mimic his frustration.

xXxXxXxXx

In the state of indecision Dean was in, drinking might not have been the best idea. Especially not in the excess he chose. Especially not to the point of disassociating reason from reality.

He was vulnerable by his own doing. And it was something he didn't even realize would happen until the deed was done. Until his brain flipped switches and his bravery suddenly came out to play. There were no barriers holding him back.

His fingers found his phone and somehow (after a startling wrong number) he was able to dial Castiel's number. And then he was able to, just as easily, hang up because of the sudden giggling fit overtaking him.

From there, all Dean knew was the total black spot in his memory. He figured he'd just passed out. It tended to happen after a binge. And he was okay with that. He would prefer that bodily reaction over doing something he might regret in the morning.

Something like redialing Cas and begging him to come over,  _then_  passing out. Something like waking up to a soft tap on the sliding door in his room. Something like crawling out of bed, groggy and head pounding, just to find that guy with a shitty-ass grin on his lips.

Castiel's eyes were shifting around like he was afraid someone would see him. Not for his sake, Dean was sure…. Quickly, Dean unlocked and slid open the door, ushering the other inside. "What are you doing here?" he whispered gruffly.

There was a frown on Cas' lips as he walked past Dean, pulling along a wheeled suitcase. "You called me…last night. You told me to…pack a bag." He nodded down to the suitcase. "You said…you wanted to take me away. A mini vacation so we could sort through some of this…. I believe you called it a 'shit storm of mixed-up crap'."

Dean's face was a blank slate. He had absolutely no recognition of this event and wasn't sure if that was something he should be proud or scared of. "I, uh…." His gaze trailed over to the empty bottle of Jack sitting on his bedside table. "Sorry…."

It didn't take but a moment for Castiel to connect the dots. His eyes lit up with something like fear and he instantly tried to back towards the door. "Shit…. I thought your voice sounded…off. You're quite a sober drunk." He laughed, missing most of the feeling, causing it to sounded slightly haunted.

"Wait, so…you were all set to just drop everything and run off on a mini-vacation with a guy you barely know?"

Pausing on his way out, Castiel lifted his shoulders in a shrug. Then stopped full-force, turning quickly on Dean. The fear and caution was gone from his brilliant blue eyes. Now he was just angry. "You know what? Yes. Yes, I did. I took a couple sick days at work, which I never do, just so I can do something crazy for once. Just so I can try and sneak into your bedroom in the early sunlight of day with a bag packed and ready to go. Just so I can hope for you to make up your mind on us. Just so I can…try and get something about you…to be rational and  _work_."

Dean watched the man's hands fist into little balls of anger. He almost looked…childlike in his fury. Like he was young again and didn't know how to express himself properly. It was literally all he was taking away from this exchange. The anger and the silliness of its expression.

"You know what? I don't know why I've even bothered." The sigh that exhaled from deep within Castiel's body was heavy and filled with regret and shattered ideals. "I'm really not interested in being your taste-test. I…I don't want to be some inebriated experiment. I don't want to be the guy you crawl back to  _only_  when you're feeling helpless and vulnerable and  _wasted_. I can't do this. I  _won't_  do this. I won't be the one you call for a drunken hook-up.

"So…. I'm going to walk out that door now before anyone sees me. Wouldn't want to give anyone the wrong idea…."

It wasn't like Dean felt all that bad for what he was putting Cas through. Not that he was consciously aware of, anyway. That wasn't why he did it. He couldn't really give a reason for it…. He just…did.

Castiel was halfway out the door when Dean grabbed his upper arm. He didn't give any explanation - just pulled him back inside, shut the door with a sure slam, and sealed his lips almost violently with Cas'.

It lasted a few seconds, this kiss, but felt like it could have been hours. It was a moment now seared into Dean's mind. Something he would never forget. It was like the kiss at the school. It was passionate and full of things he  _needed_. He couldn't deny that this  _was_  something he needed. It was something he kept trying to get, no matter the state he was in.

It was time to finally just…give in.

This was him giving in.

"I have to get Ben to school," he whispered against the other's lips before stealing one last taste. "And then I need to find him a sitter for tonight. But then…. Then we can leave." Dean pulled away, squeezing Castiel's upper arm. Surveying the stunned look in those warm, icy eyes. "Just hang tight. I'll be back. Promise."

As Dean walked out of his room, rather swiftly, all he could focus on from their exchange was that his mouth tasted like moldy rubbing alcohol. He wondered if Castiel could taste that. He wondered if that mattered to him. If that was all something that might make him change his mind. Had his other… _partners_  been better with their hygiene practices?

Mostly, Dean was just worried. In a way, he had just committed himself to this. He had just made a final decision on going with these strange and almost unwelcome feelings he had. Sure, it was something he had been thinking on for the past few weeks rather stressfully. The decision had made for quite a distraction. And… _yes_ , it did feel a bit better now that there was a finality to it. It felt pretty damn freeing. That wasn't something he was going to complain about….

On the other hand, something still weighed his heart down about this whole thing.'

"I'm not gay," he whispered to himself as he entered the kitchen, flipping the switch on the coffeepot. He sighed deeply, letting his arms rest on the counter. And then practically collapsing atop it, hands over the back of his neck with his cheek pressed to the cool countertop.

This was an adamant mantra for him. And it wasn't a new one. It was a mantra he'd adopted years upon years ago. Just to keep himself going, he'd have to tell himself  _this_.

 

**April 1997**

Dean tried to spend as much time as he could get away with at the school. Sam was old enough to get himself places safely now. He didn't need the constant supervision. And he was often at some after school activity or another. They were both getting quite good at passing time before returning home. His brother in, undoubtedly, healthier ways than him….

Most often, staying at the school meant hiding out behind the maintenance shed with an unmatched ration of pot to the number of grunged-out degenerates lazing about in a half-hearted circle.

And, most often, he would end up being the first to leave. Making excuses of having to drive Sammy home or thinking he saw a teacher coming their way. Whatever excuse he could figure out to get away without anyone wanting to follow him.

None of them knew where he really went.

"Hey, P-" Dean pushed open the classroom door, stopping short when he realized he should have knocked…. "Mr. Stewart." He very softly shut the door behind him, leaning back against it. Trying to act casual.

"It's just a student, Brie. I'll just be a couple more minutes. I promise." Paul Stewart, who often looked much too put-together and good-looking to be a small-town high school math teacher, lifted a single finger in Dean's direction. Signaling that as soon as he could hang up the phone on his wife safely, he would be readily available.

Nodding like he had all the time in the world, Dean pushed up off the door. He took slow, measured steps towards the back corner of the classroom. The one that couldn't be seen from the little window in the door.

"Do you have some time?" he asked the instant the phone was slipping back into its cradle.

The teacher was already getting to his feet. Already making a bee-line for that hidden corner. He was fast, but steady in the same moment. His fingers danced through his russet-colored hair, mussing it up in a way that certainly anyone would find irresistible. "For an attentive student like you, Dean Winchester? Always."

Dean was anything but an attentive student. During class hours. But when that end bell rang and all the other students and teachers left? He would do anything Mr. Stewart asked. Absolutely anything. "Paul, c'mere," he muttered, resting back upon the solid top of the desk. It never took much more convincing than that. If there was anything easy in the young man's life, this was it.

"Dean…." There was a hesitance in Paul. A kind of hesitance Dean had never seen before. Even when this first started, his eyes were always lit up with something like coy eagerness. Now…. He was actually pulling back. Pulling away. "I…I don't have much time. I should get home."

He had never made excuses before.

"What's going on?" Dean whispered, catching the back of Paul's knees with the toe of his boots. "Why can't you stay? It's not like I'm taking up a huge chunk of your time…."

Paul chuckled, possibly because it was true or (maybe more likely) because he'd never heard Dean beg to anyone but him. He decreased the space between them, allowing Dean's legs to cinch around him. Locking him in. "Brie thinks I'm cheating on her," he whispered, close enough to mingle their breaths. "If I don't go home…."

The open threat sent chills down Dean's spine. It excited him. Not that he would ever admit such a thing. "Just stay a few minutes. You can tell her a student kept you late for  _extra credit_." His feet slipped to the ground, giving him the proper leverage to press his needy erection into Paul's thigh. Trying to use it as a means of persuasion.

They didn't need any words from that point. Paul didn't have enough fight in him to reign back any longer. Grinning like the big, bad wolf, he surged in for the attack. His kisses felt like fire and ice were at war. Like this was everything Dean needed and shouldn't have all rolled into one. It felt like a breath of fresh air and an overdose of smoke.

Paul didn't hear the door open. He was too preoccupied by the satisfying jingle of Dean's belt hitting the top of the desk as he went to expose him. Went to use him in a way they were both so addicted to by this point.

But Dean listened past the doldrums of their delicious sins. And his first instinct was to hide. To pull back and go into alert mode. Someone was in the room. Someone was going to see. Someone was going to find out this secret he'd been holding back for so long.

He needed to  _run_.

Swearing under his breath, he ducked off to the side. Paul made a sputtering noise of question and protest before understanding. There was a woman standing in the doorway. Her mouth was agape, but she still looked stunning. Fuck, if this were any other situation….

"Brie!"

Dean didn't stick around for the questions or for the fury in this woman's eyes to explode. His one objective was to keep moving. His keys were in his pocket and all he could think about was getting to his car.

Driving away.

Running away.

 

**November 2007**

At least his taste in men was consistent.

"Dad, why is Mr. Novak's ugly car out on the curb?"

Raising a brow, Dean took a peek out the slats of the window shade. Sure as shit, there sat that monster of a Lincoln Continental.

"Am I in trouble?"

All this time, this was something Dean would never admit to anyone. He wouldn't even admit to himself. Ten years of running away and pushing feelings down. Ten years of avoiding anything just to avoid the  _one_  thing. And here he was…inches away from just blurting it out to his child.

How did he feel so comfortable with this?

Slowly, he turned away from the counter and aimed a gentle smile at his boy. "No, you're not in trouble. He's…he's not here for you. Don't worry." Grabbing a box of cereal, a couple bowl, and the jug of milk, he settled down at the table across from Ben.

"What's he here for, then?" the boy asked. His eyes were so innocent and yet so mature. The two of them shared everything. Dean didn't hold secrets back from him. And Ben told him absolutely everything.

Clearing his throat, trying to find the words, Dean poured them both a bowl. "What would you say if…if I told you that he's here for me?"

Chuckling into his spoon, Ben shook his head slowly back and forth. "I'd tell you to find more interesting friends."

"What if he was more than a friend?"

Recognition dawned almost instantly on Ben's face. He lifted his head so fast, it caused Dean to jump. For a moment, they both merely stared at one another, both too scared or shocked to know what to say. The silence spanned for nearly a minute, awkward and stale.

But then something shifted. Ben's shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug and…that was that. That was all the drama there was going to be. "Cool."

Dean couldn't help but to laugh and nod along in affirmation.  _Cool. I'm potentially entering a relationship with a dorky, little man. And that is…cool._


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, it's been a long time.... This chapter has been sitting in limbo for...oh god, too long. I was having issues trying to get it right. But now it is! And I'm excited to present it. And I hope you all like it and don't hate me for the wait. Please be kind and leave a review! I like to hear what you readers think!

**Thanksgiving 2007**

"Great. When do I get to meet her?"

Two hours. Sam had been in his house _two hours_ and Dean was already pushing the secret past his teeth. His voice was shaky with attempted confidence, but his brother still reacted the only way he expected him to – with unwavering support. Even though he hadn't quite caught on….

He could have just said he was too busy to hunt their turkey like he had since Ben was a baby. He didn't need an excuse or a reason. Sam would have believed him regardless. There was no need for him to out his secret…like this.

And yet, that's all Dean wanted to do.

"Is she coming for dinner tonight?"

"Um…."

From the living room, Ben piped up with a much-louder-than-necessary scoff. " _You_ ," Dean pointed a finger towards him, "are not helping!" With a snicker, the boy went back to his video game, like he hadn't made a single noise to begin with.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Yeah. Nothing."

Sam wasn't buying it.

"Dad's dating my teacher!"

Ben was such a _helpful_ child…. "Benjamin! Get off that thing and go…play outside or something!" Dean's face was flushed bright red and there was no hiding it as he sat across from his brother. With a clear of his throat, he pushed back in his chair. The screeching noise this move caused helped to focus him a little bit. Helped to clear a bit of the panicked fog spreading over his brain.

As soon as the front door slammed shut, the uncomfortable silence felt threatening. Sam knew exactly what Ben's statement meant. He was just waiting for a hint of explanation. And Dean wasn't sure he knew how to give it.

They already had beers on the table, but it was definitely time for something stronger.

Dean settled back in his seat with a bottle of scotch in one hand and two glasses in the other. He poured a healthy amount for the both of them, downing his fully before even daring to meet his brother's eyes.

"You're dating Mr. Crappy Continental Mark V?"

With a roll of his eyes, Dean poured another round. "Shut up."

They talked often. They talked about anything that happened in their lives. Sam was very aware of the fact that Ben's teacher this year was male. He'd heard from the kid himself just how quirky this man was and how he drove the junkiest pimpmobile he'd ever seen. What they hadn't talked about, however, was just how close Dean had been getting with this teacher.

"If I promise to make him to get a better car, will you have less of an issue with this?"

Sam's face remained stoic. In his mind, this wasn't much of a joking matter. "That's not what this is about." Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Sam cut him off with a sharp, "You _know_ what this is about."

 

**April 1997**

It was never a big deal. It was never something Dean gave much thought. It was never something he worried about.

Until now.

Dean never felt like he had something to worry about. They were careful and secret. There wasn't ever even a hint of danger to what he was doing with Paul. It happened fast, upon sloppy impulse, on a day where he was perhaps a bit too stoned. A bit too…out of his mind. Which, to be honest, was almost all of the time….

It wasn't planned or calculated. It was a rough push against a wall and a kiss he had never expected from his _math_ teacher during a solitary detention. It wasn't bad. It was…a little weird. And it was kind of hot. It was unexpected and…perhaps that's why Dean continued with it.

It was something to break the monotony.

But now it was over. Someone had found out. That wasn't even a problem on his scope before. He had been so stupid to think that this could only end well. That they could go along merrily fucking until he graduated and then that would be the end of it.

Of course someone had to find out. And now he was definitely worried. Worried others would soon follow suit. One person in particular.

Dad.

For the first time in the whole… _thing_ they had going on, Dean was starting to worry about how this would look to other people. The things that people would assume about him. Word travelled fast in small towns. And Custer…was a pretty fucking small town.

The instant his name was mentioned (and it was bound to be, honestly), his reputation was ruined. He would be branded with a label and that…would be that.

Dean wasn't gay. He liked women. _Loved_ women! Hell, the impressive stack of skin mags under his bed should prove that! Shouldn't it?

But none of this would mean a damn thing to John Winchester. The instant he heard a rumor about his eldest, most obedient son, Dean was dead.

This wasn't even an exaggeration.

Panic rising in his throat, Dean allowed his foot to grow heavy on the accelerator. He sped recklessly along the familiar path back to the cabin. In the passenger seat, his younger brother's hand flitted towards his seatbelt, ensuring his safety. "Are you alright?" he whispered, voice barely heard over the music blaring from the tape deck.

Dean didn't answer. He didn't know how to. Of course he would have to tell Sam. He would have to explain everything if he expected the boy to understand his actions tonight.

Clearing his throat, Dean snuck a look over at his brother. He swallowed hard, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "You're, uh…. You're going to be hearing something about me soon. I mean…I'm sure you will. Kids at school will talk. People around town. And…. And I need you to keep those things from Dad, for me. Okay?"

"And what exactly is it that I'm supposed to be keeping from Dad?" Sam asked, his voice loud and clear once he'd reached out to turn the stereo off.

Sam couldn't be expected to keep a secret if he didn't know it. Dean supposed he should tell him himself. It would sound better coming from him. Except…he really wasn't sure how to even go about doing that. He was having trouble finding the words.

"You know my math teacher? Mr. Stewart?" Sam nodded cautiously. "There is a…good chance that he might be fired soon…."

Fortunately (or, maybe, unfortunately), Sam was smart. He caught on quick, mouth going slack as he shifted in his seat to stare at his brother. "I didn't know you even…."

Rolling his eyes, Dean waved the notion off. "I _don't_. You know I don't. It's just…something weird that happened. And his wife found out and now…." Dean fidgeted in his seat, letting the silence say what he wasn't brave enough to.

"You're leaving."

 

**Thanksgiving 2007**

" _Wow, there's actually quite a bit to do around here…. What do you want to try first? Yoga or…the-"_

_Dean wasn't exactly interested in yoga or…or whatever else was offered in the pamphlet Castiel was so engrossed in. He cut the words off before the other man even had a chance. The décor was hideous in this room, but it was still small and intimate. It still made Dean's blood rush. It still made him reckless. Careless. The kind of excited that had him stepping up to Cas and slowly cutting him off with a languid kiss._

_Before he knew it, the two of them were sitting stark-naked upon the Little House on the Prairie quilt. Castiel was drinking him in like he was an oasis in the desert. And Dean…. Dean was trying very hard not to turn tomato red as he tried to return the staring favor. "You're, uh…." He was trying. He was trying_ so hard _to compliment something…but all his brain could supply with was, "Uncut."_

" _Yes, I am,"Cas whispered, a sympathetic smile upon his lips. Perhaps pity was the reason he began to inch forward. Up on his knees, he scooted closer and closer, second by second. By the time he reached Dean, the heat was palpable between them. Their hearts beat so heavily, they could practically hear one another's racing pulse._

_They didn't exchange another word for a very long time. They didn't need to. The cues their bodies gave off were enough. Castiel settled right into Dean's lap, melding their flushed skin into one heated mass. From somewhere, he managed to produce a modicum of lube in one hand. The one hand he managed to wrap around both of their cocks simultaneously._

_It was like nothing Dean had ever felt before. The touch instantly brought him back to high school. Back to those sinful afternoons spent under a marijuana haze, filled so full he forgot who he was supposed to be._

_But this was different. Better. Heated and heavy and_ right _, where that had been nothing but inherently wrong. This wasn't what he ever thought he would be okay and settled with. Especially not sober and in glaring daylight._

_Dean didn't last long. He could never have hoped to with those brilliant blues staring him down and the slippery feel of their arousals gliding over one another._

_When he did come, dooming them both to a hard scrub in order to remove the stickiness, he let his head hit the wall behind him with a hard thud. It was the end of his struggle, that thud. It meant he had given up. This was what he was resigning to. He was giving in to Castiel and his sinful touches and his idea of a romantic happily ever after._

" _Dean?"_

_He grunted a noise to let the other man know he was still alive. If only just barely._

" _I'll give you some time to recover…. God knows we could both use a nap. But…I just want you to know that…. If you'd let me, I'd love to fuck you later."_

xXxXxXxXx

"My brother wants to meet you."

Dean was an addict. He knew what the rush of satisfying an addiction felt like. And this felt exactly like that. Castiel spent every single night in his bed, draining every last bit of hesitance he could have at this point with one simple look. One simple touch. One simple word.

Or, in the case of tonight, one simple sentence. "I missed you."

And, so, this topic he had meant to say something about the instant Cas stepped through his sliding door fell to the wayside. It had been awhile since an adult had truly missed his presence. All he'd wanted to do was revel in that.

Their breaths hadn't even had the time to slow. Their mouths were still parched from the groans and moans they strained to keep quiet. The cum upon their skin hadn't even _begun_ to dry. And yet, Dean was sure he'd reveled long enough. It was time to focus on something else for a moment. To take a moment to appreciate the high he had before he went and chased it again.

"You told him," Cas whispered back, curling in closer to Dean upon the small bed.

With hardly a nod, Dean let out a long sigh. "Well…Ben did…the little shit. Either way, Sam knows and is 'trying his best to be supportive'."

That was the last thing his brother had said to him before Dean had 'retired to bed'. Dinner had been forced and quiet for the first time since…. _"I'm trying to be supportive, Dean. But this can't be like the last time."_

This was _nothing_ like the last time.

"You can introduce us in the morning."

xXxXxXxXx

The morning came around faster than Dean could believe. He lay awake all night, dreading every single passing minute. Unlike Castiel who, of course, slept like a perfect little baby.

Before long, Dean just couldn't handle the waiting any longer. He gently peeled away from his boyfriend, cringing at the sticky mess dried between them. With that in mind, a hot shower didn't sound like a bad idea.

"Can I join you?" Dean was just leaning over to test the water when Castiel stepped into the bathroom. Shoulders tensing, Dean straightened up. He wanted to say 'yes'. His body yelled at him to. Even if shower sex was complicated, it might be fun to try. It might even…relax him a little bit. Maybe.

But the worry and the nerves eating at his stomach said he couldn't handle it. "Can you…. Can I just get a moment?" he said, making sure to keep his back turned. He stepped into the shower without another word, hoping the warm spray would loosen his muscles.

The sink ran for a minute and then Cas was gone.

Dean emerged five minutes later, the unease still settled over him like a towel. The only sign that Cas had been there recently was the damp washcloth draped over the edge of the sink. For some reason, that silly washcloth made him feel like he had messed up in a way. In a big way. And, so, he rushed through shaving and dressing and went out to the kitchen to face one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do.

The first thing he heard were three separate sets of laughter. Frowning, he stepped into the room, leaning against the door frame as he watched the three most important men in his life interact so fluidly.

"Hey. What'd I miss?"

Castiel gave Dean one of those rare, full-blown smiles (the ones that caught him off guard and made his stomach do an uncomfortable turn). "I was just telling Sam and Ben about my Thanksgiving dinner last night."

"Yeah? And how'd that go?" Pouring himself a cup of fresh-made coffee (when Cas stayed the night, there was always fresh-made coffee when he woke), Dean leaned up against the counter.

"Long story short? I forgot to get a turkey and served my family nothing but sides. Told them all I was vegetarian now and couldn't stand to have meat products in my house." Castiel chuckled again, softer this time. An embarrassed laugh.

Rolling his eyes with a grin, Dean pushed up off the counter. He settled a kiss on the man's temple, whispering, "If they bought that story, they clearly don't know you well enough."

They shared a small look, something akin to understanding, before Dean pulled back and turned towards the stove. A blush flushed down his neck, so he busied himself with pulling out pans and food from the fridge. He still wasn't used to…showing this affection. Especially not in front of his son. Or his brother. The only thing that would have been more unsettling is if his father happened to be here. Which would never happen; not as long as Dean still had a say.

xXxXxXxXx

"Are you still not…you know…?"

Of course that would be the first thing Sam _had_ to ask once they were alone. It was obviously something that had been on his mind since the news had been shed. The question had been lingering in the corner of his mouth, just waiting for the opportune moment.

Ben was out playing football with some friends and Castiel had returned home, which left Dean wide open for prying questions. All he wanted to do was roll his eyes, but instead he closed them and relaxed back in his armchair. "Do we really have to have this conversation?"

Sam, it seemed, was just as uncomfortable approaching this subject. He shifted in his own seat, shrugging like he wished he could take the question back.

"Fine. Fine!" Dean threw his hands up in the universal sign of annoyed defeat. "Yes! I mean…I mean, no! No I'm not…but yes I'm still not…'you know'. Does that answer your damn question?"

It was a good thing Dean had his eyes closed. He just knew Sam had to be giving him _that_ look. The one that he'd taken since childhood when he wanted his older brother to know he _knew_ he was lying but was too polite to say something. He also knew that he was flushed red with embarrassment and didn't want to know that someone was seeing this.

"Alright. If that works for you…it works for me."

It didn't work for Dean. It was absolutely unsettling in his stomach. But it was something he could settle with. For now, just until…until he no longer felt the need to hide behind fancy word-craft. "I'm just…seeing where this goes. I'm not… _gay_. I'm just…trying to be happy."

The couch let out a protesting creak and before Dean could open his eyes to see why, Sam was standing behind his chair. He placed his hands, strong and secure with years of trouble, on his brother's shoulders. One squeeze and a wave of security washed right through Dean. "Well, you look happy. Both of you. And I'm happy _for_ you."

Dean didn't need his brother's acceptance. At least, that's what he liked to tell himself. After being on his own for so long, he'd come to think he was rather self-sufficient. But sitting here in this chair with a kind pressure on his shoulders….

"Thanks, Sammy."


End file.
